


heart's a mess

by niniadepapa



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Complete, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niniadepapa/pseuds/niniadepapa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Killian is perfectly content with his life - or so he thinks, until his girlfriend finds a new roommate who makes him question what is it that he really wants. Or really needs, for that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this as a one shot. after publishing it, i got asked to write a follow up chapter to give it closure. because i am mean, i wrote two epilogues - one happy, one sad. y'all been warned.

"I told you that movie would be terrible."

"It wasn’t  _that_  bad. And you laughed at a couple of scenes!”

He let out a humorless chuckle, looking at his girlfriend’s amused face from the corner of his eye as they trudged along the street. “Yeah, I laughed because it was bloody ridiculous,” he insisted stubbornly.

It had been  _that_  bad.

Milah giggled, lacing her fingers through his and pulling him closer to her. “Oh, shut it. Next time you’ll pick the movie and then it’ll be me whining about how bad it was, deal?”

That was the plan. They had this arrangement for whenever they went to the cinema - if he wanted to watch a ‘typical male’ movie, then the next one would be her choice. It quite worked for them. Always had. “Fine.”

She huddled closer to him in an attempt to protect herself against the cold wind, and he tucked her head against his shoulder, leaving a kiss over her dark curls. They stopped when they reached a stop light, waiting for it to let them cross the street, approaching her apartment. She let go of him, bouncing lightly on her feet to try to stay warm, and a sudden glint appeared in her eyes. She clapped excitedly. “Oh, you’re meeting Emma today!”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, smirking when she stuck her tongue back in his direction. He knew how she hated it when he did that - because she was unable to lift just one. “Your new roommate?”

"Yeah, she’s all settled in the apartment now. Got her friend over the last couple of days helping moving her stuff and so on. We had fun," she declared with a smile, using the traffic light like a pole to swing herself under his amused stare. That was his girlfriend: she just couldn’t stay put for a minute.

"How did you find this girl again?," he inquired curiously. He had been trying to help Milah find someone to share her apartment with since her last roommate Kathryn had left the city. They had been sad after she did, as they had become really good friends, but at least they had stricken up quite the close friendship and had promised to maintain contact.

Milah jumped to her feet from the traffic light and joined him just as it turned green, and she all but danced to the other sidewalk. “Apparently a colleague of hers from work saw my event on Facebook looking for a roommate and told her about it when she mentioned she needed a new place.”

"That was convenient," he commented idly. He frowned when an afterthought came to mind the closer they got to her place. "Is she okay with me coming and going? There are these girls who will feel weirded out by roommate’s boyfriends staying at their places like they owned it or something."

Kathryn hadn’t been bothered at all by his presence; in fact she adored having him there. He loved staying at Milah’s place - and it didn’t have to do with just the possibility of having sex whenever he did. Even though it  _did_  matter too. But it was such a nice apartment, who knew if it was just because it was owned by girls, or how well it smelled or how clean it was, or how homey it felt to just lay on her couch and watch TV in there, or even get some work done when things at his place got a little crazy with his own friends. He was just really, really fond of it. He wasn’t looking forward to feeling awkward if this new girl wasn’t all too pleased by his presence.

Milah took his hand back in hers, smiling reassuringly at him and waving her other hand in the air. “Nah, I told her and she said it was fine.”

Not so convinced, though - who would blame the poor girl if she of course agreed to whatever her new roommate told her, right? - he followed her up the steps to her building, joining her inside the elevator and finally into the apartment.

His girlfriend ran to check the messages on the phone, and he took the opportunity to tiptoe to the kitchen and open the fridge, checking what he could haul from it. Before he could settle on anything, though, Milah’s voice halted his wandering hands, already going to open the drawers. “Can you please stop stealing my food?”

He threw a naughty smile over his shoulder, shrugging lightly and going back to his search. “You know you love feeding me.” His eyes caught a glimpse of bright red in one of the corners of the drawer, and he curiously picked up the little shiny package, turning on his feet to stare at her with an awed expression. “Wow, you bought these? You never buy them!” Closing the fridge’s door behind him with his foot and already opening the candy, he declared, “I’m taking them, that’s it…”

"Milah? I need your help, the landlord - Leroy, I think? - came up earlier saying something about the wifi problem but I wasn’t sure what to tell him, so..," an unknown voice startled him, making him nearly spit the sweet he had just popped into his mouth.

Smooth, Killian. Really smooth.

The first time he saw Emma Swan, she was in her pajamas, her hair in a disheveled ponytail and her glasses propped at the top of her hair. Her eyes went from Milah to him, a curious look in them as she waited for her to answer her question, her phone tightly gripped in her hand, waiting for instructions as to what to do.

Milah interrupted the awkward scene, approaching her new roommate to stand beside her, smiling warmly at the indecision the poor girl was showing just then. “Hey Emma! Don’t worry, I’ll call Leroy later. And hey, remember I told you about my boyfriend?” She pointed at him with her thumb, laughing at his still perplexed expression at the sudden intrusion of the blonde girl. “Just to prove I didn’t make him up! Killian, this is Emma Swan.”

Swallowing -  _fucking finally_  - the sweet, he cleared his throat and waved lamely at her, his lips curling into an embarrassed smile. “Um, hi.”

She stared at him with an unimpressed look, yet he could see something… curious, something flashing in her eyes when she stared at him. Something that made him want to cover himself, like she could see what was going on inside of him just by staring straight into his eyes. “Hi. You can keep those, if you want to,” she told him, jerking her chin in his direction.

He frowned, confused, until he realized she was talking about the candy. He held it up in his hand. “Are they yours?”

"Yeah."

Oh, crap. Closing the package with a crunch and going over to the fridge to put it away, he tried not to sound like a mumbling idiot as he spouted apologies. “I’m sorry, I should have asked, I just assumed…”

"It’s nothing, don’t worry, take them if you want. I’ve got more," she tried to reassure him with a a wave of her hand, despite the tiny smile that looked like it wanted to break free on her lips.

Milah laughed at the whole situation, as she always did, to try to ease the tension. She patted Emma’s arm, shaking her head in his direction in a ‘men - what can we do with them?’ manner. “Forgive him, he thinks with his stomach instead of his brain.”

"Well, that’s an improvement from thinking with his dick like any other XY specimen," the girl commented, and he couldn’t help but notice the resentment in her voice. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was it directed at him? She didn’t even know him!

"Excuse me?," he sputtered, positively caught off-guard.

She didn’t even bother to explain herself, her face completely closed-off. “Nevermind.”

Milah, on the other hand, threw her arm around the blonde’s shoulders, and he was struck with how different both of them were: sharp lines, dark curls, bright blue against soft features, gold locks and green sparkly eyes.

Different… and beautiful.

"Yeah, she doesn’t sound bitter or anything, huh?" Milah tried to play off her new roommate’s earlier words, shaking her playfully. It always amazed Killian how friendly she was towards people, even when they hadn’t known each other for a long time. He could feel the uncertainty in Emma’s tense posture, as if she wasn’t so used to such intimate gestures from people around her. "Your ass of an ex will burn in hell while you run down a catwalk with men fawning over you, my friend. I mean, have you seen this face?," she pondered aloud, waving a hand over her face like she were showing off a pretty item to sell to an audience.

Emma let out a soft snort, rolling her eyes at her. “Yeah, right.” Shrugging off Milah’s arm from her form, she took a couple of steps back, towards her bedroom. “Anyway, I gotta polish some final details of my presentation, so I’ll take my leave. See you tomorrow.” Before she disappeared behind the hall’s door, she turned and looked directly at Killian, an eyebrow rising in question. Hey, this girl could pull it off!

"I guess… I’ll see you around?"

Killian nodded, a smile curling at his lips as he inspected this strange girl with a curious glint in his eye. “Yeah, sure.”

With a final wave, Emma left, the echo of her soft footsteps behind her and the door closing in her wake. Milah turned around excitedly, plopping herself on the counter in front of him and asked, “So? What did you think?”

 _Such sad eyes,_ he wanted to say, when instead all he did was shrug and comment offhandedly, “I think she has great taste when it comes to candy.”

___________________________________________________________________

"Hot Chocolate, for Golden Curls?" Killian nearly groaned out loud at the obvious attempts of the bartender to try to get laid - or just find a fucking date - while he gave away girls’ orders in the café. This was the fourth time he had approached the nickname thing to try the charming, funny approach - earning him snarls and eye-rolls in response, to his neverending amusement. Killian leaned to the side of his booth to witness the outcome of this one. "I’m kidding. Emma?"

He spied golden curls spilling over a red leather jacket, and before he could even laugh at the glare she was giving the poor barista, he was calling out, surprised, “Emma?”

Gripping her drink firmly in her hand, she spun around on her feet and scanned briefly the crowd until she spotted him. Eyebrows lifting in surprise, she made her way over to his seat. “Oh. Hi.”

"Hey. What are you doing here?" Apart from her cup, she had a messenger bag slung over her shoulder, where she usually carried her laptop and her notes, as he had discovered when she went to work on the living room’s table and they had run into each other the last couple of weeks after they had first met.

She scratched her neck, standing awkwardly, until he jerked his chin towards the seat across from him, inviting her to join him. After throwing him a dubious look, she relented and sat, crossing her legs and leaving the drink before her. “I have an hour break from my assignment - came for my fix of… cocoa,” she admitted, smiling warmly before she took a sip from the Styrofoam cup. “What about you?”

"My roommates can be a tad louder than one would wish and I really need to finish this project, so…"

She frowned at first, confused, until a smirk made its way to her face. “Louder as in…?”

He feigned indignation - despite he had been expecting a remark like this. He would have, at least. Dirty minds thought alike and all that, right? “Get your mind out of the gutter!” He laughed, shaking his head thinking about his mates at home. “They have a ‘band’, and today they’re rehearsing there.”

She seemed surprised at that piece of information, but didn’t press further. “Oh. That’s cool. Why didn’t you ask Milah for her keys to go home then?”

"I didn’t want to bother you," he admitted, shrugging. He didn’t want to be a nuisance - as much as he liked staying at Milah’s, it was  _not_  his apartment. He didn’t want to become the leech boyfriend who could not stay away from his girl more than a day.

"I wasn’t even there."

"And how was I supposed to know?"

"You could always  _ask_.”

"I don’t have your number."

The words escaped his lips before he could do anything to stop them, and he had this childish urge to clap his hands over his mouth. That had sounded so flirty, such a cliché move to get a girl’s number, he couldn’t believe he had said it. Because he was  _not_  trying to flirt with Emma Swan - he barely knew her, for fuck’s sake!

Emma, for her part, froze for a second before rolling her eyes at him and rummaging inside her bag until she ripped a piece of paper from her notes and fished a pen from her pocket, hurriedly scribbling a number on it. “Here,” she said, sliding it over the surface of the table separating them. He took it, - not before his fingers touched hers, and retreating them in shock at the feel of her skin on his, - and carefully folded it, putting it inside his own pocket. He inclined his head in gratitude and raked his brain for something to say just to change topics, seeing as she had just fucking given him her number.  _Killian, stop it. It’s just for living arrangements purposes. Friendship purposes. Let it go._

"So. How are you liking living with my woman?," he finally managed to say, internally wincing at his lame idea of ways to start a conversation. He should probably write a book.  _How to bore a woman to tears 101._

Emma just tapped her nails against her cup, cocking her head to the side as she thought of an answer. “It’s cool. She’s really nice. And neat. And surprisingly passionate about TV shows, which has proved to be quite entertaining.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that. Milah’s relationship with her TV shows was quite the drill. “Ah, that she is. Sounds like your last roommate wasn’t so fun compared to her, huh?”

"Well, let me see: beautiful, funny and smart girl my age; cheating boyfriend. Not sure what to choose, dude." He froze, shooting a worried glance at her over his cup. Fuck, he had really hit a mark with that one, huh? He studied her curling her hand into a fist over the table, and she shuddered. He felt like a complete asshole - and irrationally angry at that other asshole for doing that to her. "I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have said that," she whispered at last, going to take another sip of her drink.

He shook his head at her, already trying to assure her that it was by no means her fault if she decided to rant in his presence. “No need to apologize.” Carefully peeking at her under his lashes, he chanced to ask what was burning him to know after she had confessed about her past lover. “You lived together?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose tiredly, letting out a shuddering breath. “Yeah. Didn’t work out, though.”

"That’s an understatement. Why didn’t you go back to your parents or to a friend’s?"

"No parents to go back to." He flinched. She was an orphan? Or her parents had died? Great, Killian: you’re making her talk about every fucking thing that apparently has made her so wary and broken. Kudos, man. "I stayed with my friend Ruby for a couple of weeks, but I’ve heard more than once how living with friends can somehow ruin your relationship with them."

He chuckled, thinking of how true her words were. TMI was something he was too used to say at home whenever his mates would share stories of their sexcapades, - or he’d learn things about them he really didn’t want to know. “Trust me, sometimes it’s horrifying when you notice stuff about them you would never have unless you shared a place with them.”

Emma looked up then, studying him intently. “Why don’t you live with Milah then? You two have been together forever, right?”

Ah, so Milah and she had probably discussed their relationship. It was no wonder, to be honest - the customary “how long have you been together” whenever you heard about someone being in a relationship. He could only guess what Emma had thought or said when she learned Milah and he went way back. As in, 10-years-back.

"Since we were 16," he told her, sighing defeatedly and letting his back plop tiredly against the leather booth behind him. "Yeah, you can start with the whole when-is-the-wedding jokes now."

It was the same thing every fucking time he explained he had been with the same girl for so long. He was just used to it by now.

She looked offended by the implication, frowning at him exasperatedly. “I was not. As long as you guys invite me - I just want to go to the bachelorette party…”

"Not cliché at all," he chuckled. If all of his mates made him promise a The Hangover trip, of course the girls would all wet themselves with the idea of sweaty, naked men dancing for them in a liquor haze. She smirked at him, bringing the cup to her lips trying to hide it - to no avail, of course, - as she wiggled her eyebrows.

"What can I say, Hollywood gives all these kind of ideas. But married or not, why don’t you live together? It could be a reasonable first step before the impending wedding, you know."

"And kick your ass out of the apartment? Not bloody likely, Swan." It would be very bad form to kick her out just as she had moved in, wasn’t it? It’d be a sad day when she decided to leave.

…why the hell was he thinking about her leaving his girlfriend’s apartment either way?

She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he made a note to himself to mention soon how impressive it was for him that she was able to do that. “Ah, so it is about me instead of your fear of moving on with your relationship?”

Crossing his arms over the table, he leaned further in her direction, trying not to laugh at her expression as he inched closer, dropping his voice like he wanted to share a secret with her. “Who knows? Maybe I’d miss you around.”

Was it him or had her breath hitched after he spoke?

She pulled back so that her back was straight against the cushion, and she made a fuss of rearranging her things. Suddenly, she checked her watch and frowned. “I have to go now or I’ll be late. Regina will have my ass if I’m not there by 4.”

"She’ll have your ass?" Oh, this girl and her expressions. She was too much.

"Shut up," she said, slapping his arm while he laughed at her suddenly flushed face. Picking up her bag and now empty drink, she stood up, all ready to go. "See you later? Or you’re going back to your place?"

He pursed his lips, contemplating his options. “You got more of that candy up there?”

"Yeah."

"Then see you later, Swan."

 

___________________________________________________________________

Killian couldn’t sleep.

He wanted to tell himself it was because of his presentation for the next day. It was a big deal. He had worked hard for it. It could mean something really big for him in his company.

Of course it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that Emma hadn’t come back home until 3AM.

Or the fact that she had been completely drunk off her ass.

Or the fact that she hadn’t been alone.

He had been awake when he had heard the front door closing with a bang, as he was rereading some of the late details for the next day, earphones over his head and lights of his laptop dimmed as to not bother Milah while she slept by his side on the bed. He had been about to walk out to mock-tell her off for being late or something when hushed giggling and the unmistakable sound of clothes being thrown to the floor coming from outside his door filled his ears. Something ugly and cold had spread across him, and he fought the sudden desire of going over to her room and kick whoever it was that was taking advantage of her, a broken girl who had probably ended up in a bar to drink herself into oblivion.

But when only passionate gasps and moans travelled through the wall dividing both of their rooms, he had to admit the reality that, as much as he wanted to blame this faceless guy, it wasn’t his place to judge or do anything, really. It was more than clear that Emma wanted this, wanted this whoever it was to please her, and if that was what she wanted, what she sought as any way to find solace or release or whatever it was she needed, then by all means, she’d get it. And she, of course, didn’t need Killian looming over her like a guardian angel or something.

Why would he feel the need to protect her at all, he would never know.

He decided to go to the kitchen to fix himself something to calm his nerves and clear his head - and maybe to try to avoid the increasingly louder banging and moaning from Emma’s room. He stayed there for a while, unable to stop himself from smiling as he drank a cup of cocoa and took a couple of Emma’s candy as an afterthought, until a closing door and hurried steps along the hall made him stare curiously at the doorway, where Emma’s companion was obviously fleeing the scene. He didn’t even acknowledge Killian - he probably didn’t notice him, to be completely honest, and as soon as he had showed up, he left, the closing front door nearly silent behind him.

Not long later, a simple oversize t-shirt covering her, Emma stumbled loudly into the kitchen, - even though he suspected she thought she was being stealthy about it.

She  _really_  wasn’t.

When she reached the doorway, she lifted her gaze towards him and jumped back, a hand clutching her chest in alarm. “Oh, fuck. Jesus. You scared the crap out of me.”

He let out a chuckle at her obvious distress. “Sorry. It wasn’t my intention.”

Ignoring her more than revealing state of dress - in fact, he had to avert his eyes to try not to look like a creep, - she rounded the counter to go to the sink and fill a glass of water for herself. “What are you doing up?”

To tell her or not to tell her. Huh. He could always be vague about it. “Couldn’t sleep.”

"Why?" Her hand froze in her way to her lips when she realized what the implications behind his words could mean. She groaned, clenching her eyes shut and blushing profusely. "Oh, wait. Please tell me it wasn’t…"

Half amused and half apologetic, he tried to reassure her. “No, no, I was already awake. Though it proved to be even more difficult after  _that_.”

"Welcome to my world, buddy," he thought he heard her murmuring against the glass she was drinking from. Wait, what did she mean? For all he knew, Milah and him weren’t  _that_  loud. At least, he liked to think they weren’t. Kathryn had never complained.

Well, Kathryn had always liked to sleep with earplugs because every tiny sound made her restless or some crap like that he liked to tease her about, so maybe…

"What was that?"

"Nothing," she was more than quick to answer, letting out a loud breath after she drank. They both stayed quiet for a couple of minutes, each one of them lost in thought, and Killian took the chance to inspect her closely. Her hair was a mess - what his friends would call ‘sex hair’, and hell, was it appropriate for this situation, - her lips pink and swollen. He had to shake his head to stop the unwelcome - or, what was worse, not so unwelcome - images of Emma getting into such a state, maybe not by that guy that had just left, but…

Clenching his fist on the counter, he went for the kill, just to stop his treacherous mind from fucking him over. More than he wanted. “So - how was it?”

Lifting her head and staring at him like he was being completely out of line - which he might be - a loud snort escaped her lips. “We are  _not_  discussing my last one night stand.”

"Was that what it was? Not even a proper fuck-buddy?" Even if he was wary to admit it, he hadn’t discussed her love life as of now; she had just escaped from a broken relationship involving betrayal and heartbreak, and he was by no means sure what this girl would consider as a healthy or proper way to mend her heart.

Anyway, why was he so interested in finding out?

Fuck.

"Why are you so interested?" Was she reading his mind or what?

He smoothed his features to appear collected at this sudden back and forth between them. “What makes you think I am interested?”

"Why do you always answer with a question?," she inquired, frustrated.

"Because you don’t answer me."

"Neither do you. Why do you care at all what I do?"

 _Yes, Killian - why do you care what she does?_  It wasn’t like the girl couldn’t do whatever the fuck she wanted. It wasn’t like she didn’t have anyone who cared for her - he had met her best friends not long ago when they had been together having dinner at the apartment and they had invited Milah and him to join them.

It wasn’t like she was his.

Shrugging in an attempt to look indifferent, he replied, “I was just curious. And I care because I’m a friend, am I not?”

She studied him for a long moment, assessing his words, probably trying to figure out if he was being serious at all. He didn’t know what she decided at last, because she just shut her eyes and leaned her head against the wall, looking completely defeated.

"You’d be the first," she uttered, and he was torn between asking what did she mean by that or just scooping her in his arms and holding her close to him. Before he could do any of them -  _wait a second, what do you mean any? You’d ask, you fucker, no snuggling,_  - she stood straight, walking out of the kitchen. “Anyway, I’m drunk and I want to go to bed, so good night Jones, enjoy my coconut. Cocoa. Candy. Whatever it is you’re having.”

Right as she was stepping out of the door, he called out for her, “Emma…”

"What?" she nearly whimpered, turning on her heel and sending him a pleading look. She surely wanted to leave to bed already, probably forgetting their conversation as she walked back to her room.

Taking her glass and refilling it, he picked the pill he had taken earlier from Milah’s cabinet, turning off the light and joining her in the doorway. He gave her both items, and at her curious glance, he told her, “Here. So you’re not hangover tomorrow.”

And he walked back to Milah’s room, not seeing her shocked expression or the small smile that replaced it seconds later.

___________________________________________________________________

 

"So. How was that for a night out, huh, Emma?" Milah couldn’t fight the glee in her tone as they all sat at the counter having their usual hangover-breakfast, as they had dubbed them since they had started the tradition. Though they had had to change the coffee for cocoa for Emma, seeing as she was completely opposed to caffeine in any form.

"You don’t need to look so smug about getting me to go out, you know," the blonde girl countered back, leaning her head against the counter while she waited for her toasts to get ready. There was still a bit of make up smudged around her eyes, yet Killian couldn’t help the feeling that, even after a night out, his girls looked equally or even more beautiful after them.

Yeah. He had called them  _his girls_.

He was  _so_  fucked.

Milah laughed, shaking her head at her roommate and threatening her playfully with her spoon. “Come on! I had to practically organize it all behind your back so you couldn’t get away from it.”

Emma winced in response. “You are starting to creep me out. You are far too invested in my ‘free time’ - it’s like Ruby is slowly taking over you.”

"Hush. Not true."

"Milah. You made me wear heels." Oh, that had been a sight to behold. Milah had nearly used her infamous fake tears to guilt poor Emma into wearing those ‘ _fucking feet killer contraptions_ ,’ as she had called them, but she had caved in after a lot of whining from both girls’ parts.

"But you looked awesome," Milah gushed, a dreamy look on her face. Killian had always been amused by her passion concerning her friends’ fashion choices.

Emma apparently hadn’t been too fond of her friend’s insistence. “Leave me alone.”

Milah looked outraged at her blasé comment about her aid in her choice of wardrobe. She turned to Killian, hands on hips and asking for reinforcement. “Backup! Didn’t she, Killian?”

He shrugged, trying not to show how uneasy he felt at that moment. “Sure.”

Both girls stared him down. Milah rolled her eyes at him while Emma just shrugged - even if he could make out a crestfallen look that crossed her expression for a second. “That’s the enthusiasm I was talking about,” Milah added sarcastically in response to his vague comment. Hell, what did they expect him to say? That his jaw had nearly hit the floor at the sight of Emma in that dress and heels, her hair flowing in curls to her back, her skin glowing under the club lights as she danced and laughed with her friends, completely enraptured by the music and the freedom they all felt?

Yeah, that’d go well.

Forgetting about his not-at-all-honest response, Milah went on with her analysis of the previous night. “And we have the proof that you did look absolutely amazing because Graham couldn’t tear his eyes off you.”

Killian’s hands clenched at his sides, hiding them from both of the girls’ line of sight just in case. He nearly missed Emma’s scoffing. “Don’t start.”

"You two seemed pretty cozy."

"Milah…," she tried to stop her, a warning in her eyes as she stared at her across the counter. But his girlfriend didn’t look about to budge, passionately clapping her hands before her and not tearing her eyes from her roommate. "But it’s true! You talked for a long time, and you laughed around him! I’m not trying to be pushy or anything, just - isn’t it time to move on from your asshole of an ex? And not just by one night stands? I’m sure the sex is great and it makes you feel independent and all but… maybe you should let someone in. That’s all I’m saying."

Emma studied her, completely taken aback at Milah’s outburst and sudden desire to make her look for her perfect love story or whatever. Killian guessed she wasn’t completely used to people being concerned about her love life whatsoever - well, except Ruby, who seemed to be the most pushy one from her friends, - so he wasn’t that surprised at her own bewilderment at the circumstances. “And you think Graham is the guy I should try all this walls-down thing, huh?” she finally acknowledged, an edge in her voice, and for a millisecond, he’d swear she had looked over at him.

What the fuck? Had she? What did that mean?

"Why not?" Milah asked innocently.

For the first time since they had started the whole conversation, Killian felt himself adding his own input. “Yeah, it isn’t like you weren’t all over him last night.”

Silence fell over the table, but he couldn’t take the words back. He had tried to be civil, he  _really_  had tried to be diplomatic since they had come back home last night, and he had tried to push back the images dancing behind his eyelids as he made Milah scream in pleasure as soon as they were alone in her room. He had tried to shove it back down, to forget it, to not let it affect him so much, but it looked like he had reached his boiling point with this.

He had been drinking at the bar with August and Jefferson, merrily minding his own business when Aurora and Milah had come to them, giggling and all but yelling in glee about the ‘new developments’. When they had all asked them what they meant, they had pointed to the other side of the dance floor, and Killian had been witness of Emma and Graham talking, dancing, laughing with each other. All of his friends had been completely enamored with the idea, of course - and why wouldn’t they? Graham was a nice guy, Killian admired him and enjoyed his company, and Emma…

Well, who wouldn’t want to be with Emma?

He was brought back to the present when Emma’s venomous voice filled his ears. “I was  _not_  all over him.”

He felt the jerk inside of him wake up, cracking his knuckles and ready to lash out at her. He shrugged, like he didn’t care much about whatever she did - or whoever she did - and commented lightly, “That was what it looked, and I was not the only one who said so.”

"Oh, great, I made the gossip section of your club. I feel so honored now." She slammed her mug over the counter with a loud bang and, not even caring to eat her now ready toasts, turned to Milah, completely ignoring his presence. "I’m leaving. I’ll get back your dress as soon as I wash it."

"Okay. See you." Milah looked at her concernedly as she left, blond tresses flying behind her as she all but ran from the kitchen. When she was out of earshot, she cocked her head to him, rising an eyebrow in question. He munched his cookie, trying to appear innocent. "What?"

"You could have been a little bit more sensitive, you know."

He shrugged, even if a pang of guilt was already stabbing inside of him like a knife. “Hey, they were all talking about it. I didn’t say anything.”

She shook her head then, letting her head fall into her hands and groaning. “Men. You don’t understand  _anything_.”

___________________________________________________________________

He  _really_  needed to go to the bathroom.

Walking barefoot, not even caring what he ran into as he was paying no attention whatsoever where he was going, walking completely on autopilot, he was about to open the bathroom’s door when he crushed into a small, warm body. His arms leapt out to steady her, and as soon as he checked she was alright, he let them fall to his sides, not sure how she’d react to him touching her.

Knowing she was still pissed at him, he wouldn’t be surprised if she bit him or something like that.

"Oh - sorry," she said, stepping back from him awkwardly. He studied her for a moment, noticing the circles under her eyes and her tired face, and shook his head in annoyance at himself for being so concerned about this girl.

This girl who had changed  _everything_.

"It’s okay. You alright?"

"Yeah."

Silence engulfed them then, threatening to drown them in accusations and excuses after their last real conversation. Tired of the whole thing, Killian sighed heavily and started, advancing in her direction, “Look, I…”

"Save it, I’m not really in the mood," she snapped, eyes blazing even in the near pitch-black hallway.

They hadn’t spoken since that morning following their night out. To be honest, they hadn’t spent much quality time since then, if not because they were busy, it’d be clear that she was doing everything in her power to avoid him.

At first, he had found a sick pleasure in her sudden rage. He had enjoyed that she was mad, because that was how he had felt when he had seen her with Graham. And it was stupid and irrational and by no means right to feel this way, but the thing was that he did, and he was a selfish bastard and he had  _hated_ her at that moment. He had wanted her to hurt.

But, as time passed by and she deprived him of her presence, he realized that that tiny moment of sudden vengeance hadn’t satisfied him at all, or brought him anything but her indifference and coldness. There were no more banter, movie nights, stories exchanged at night in the kitchen. No more smiles. No more eye rolls. Nothing.

And he hated the fact that he missed her.

"I just wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have been so crass about it, even if my mates were being rather crude about it," he explained, letting the least bit of begging lace his tone. She all but ignored him, though, a hand coming up to tug at her hair tiredly as she started for her bedroom.

"I really don’t care, Jones."

"If you didn’t you wouldn’t be mad," he reflected, following her a couple of steps behind, not ready to let this conversation slide.

She turned around, nearly growling at him, “I said, I don’t care what your friends said about me, okay? Let it go.”

"But you care what  _I_  say?,” he asked, frustrated, not knowing what else to think about this whole thing, or what he was supposed to say at this point so she’d just let go already and forgive him. To his surprise, she stiffened at his words, but before he could come up with something to say about her reaction, she snarled at him, “Whatever.”

She started walking back to her room, ignoring him completely - as she had perfected since their row, - and he felt himself being drained of all energy, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Can’t you at least accept my apology? I don’t like… this," he finished lamely, hanging his head in shame. There, he had said it. This was what this girl had reduced him to: begging, apologies, headaches.

She was his own personal nightmare.

Yet he still wanted to keep her around him. Now more than anything.

She stopped in her tracks, looking at him over her shoulder. “… _this_?”

He sent her a pleading look, a hand signaling between the two of them. “Not talking to you.”

"Maybe you should have considered that before being a jerk to me just because I was talking to a friend of yours for a while in a club and act all macho over it with your gang of assholes."

The bite in her words was palpable, and he threw his arms into the air, barely letting out a scream in complete and utter despair at her impossible attitude. “You are so stubborn, for fuck’s sake. I already said I’m sorry. What else do you want?” He took a couple of long strides until he was face to face with her, his own need for her to understand that he’d do  _anything_  so she’d stop this ridiculous fight barely suppressed. “Please, Emma.”

She looked at him -  _really_  looked at him, like she hadn’t done for weeks, before everything had gone awry between them, - and he found himself amazed at the fear in her face, like she couldn’t admit what he wanted her to say. “I really don’t know,” she whispered lastly, but he didn’t get any more than that, as she closed her eyes and stepped back into her room, lock clicking in place behind her.

___________________________________________________________________

 

"Open mine!," Ruby begged, clapping and bouncing on her seat and offering Emma a wrapped box, red bow included. Boy, did this girl think of details.

Emma winced at her loud friend’s command, making a point of covering her ears as she glared at her. “Could you please stop yelling? I’m right here!”

Ruby ignored her, shoving her present towards her and letting it fall on her lap. “I’m just excited! You’re going to love it, believe me!”

They were reunited in their living room, as it was Emma’s birthday and Milah and Ruby had ignored her protests and invited their closest friends to have a light dinner and then go for a few drinks to a nearby bar they liked to frequent. Of course Emma had complained about the whole thing, assuring them that she didn’t want nor need any kind of celebration, but her friends had pointedly decided to ignore her wishes, bringing along Mary Margaret and her boyfriend, Graham and his friends. They all had brought food and drink to share - along with the most dreaded thing for Emma, as he well knew because she had confessed it to him once long ago, before she had decided to give him the cold shoulder after their row.

 _Presents_.

With a loud sigh, she picked up Ruby’s gift, shaking it lightly in her hands but not able to discern what it could be by the sound. She started opening it with care, not tearing the paper in any way, until she found herself with a set of  _very_  suggestive lingerie in her hands.

"Holy shit," Victor said, earning him a slap on the arm from Aurora while the rest of them laughed it off - and others stared too much at the lacy material in Emma’s hands, now being closely inspected by her new owner and her friends, who marveled at the softness and cut of the pieces. Emma, for her part, turned unamused eyes towards her best friend. "Did I really need to open this in public?"

Ruby waved her off, taking the bra in her hands and putting it over Emma’s chest, doing nothing to calm Killian’s overactive imagination. “I don’t care - how hot will you look in these?” Emma slapped her hand away, taking the underwear and putting it away in its box.  _Finally_.

To remember Victor’s words:  _Holy shit_.

Milah’s voice brought him out of his musings,  _really_  intense musings,  _really_  bad, bad musings. He saw his girlfriend take a bag from behind their place in the couch they were settled in, offering it to Emma with a smile. “Now it’s time for ours.”

Emma took her sweet time to take it, though, until an embarrassed grin made its way over her face. “You didn’t have to, you know.”

"Stop being ridiculous for a night, will you?," Milah complained, completely exasperated. He knew how frustrating it could be to try to make Emma comfortable or accepting whenever somebody made anything remotely nice towards her, and it became tiring at times, though Killian had found that the more she fought him, the more he insisted.

What could he say, he was a masochist that way.

Emma opened their gift with the same care she had showed earlier until a beautiful pendant with a large greenish-blue stone glinted in the lit room. She carefully picked it up, inspecting it in awe along with Ruby, who leaned it to examine it with her. “Woah. Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

"It matches your eyes! Great taste, girl," Ruby exclaimed, sending a wink towards Milah.

Emma shook her head, amused, and turned to look at the brunette girl at her side. “So that means you’re ‘borrowing’ it as soon as you can, right?”

"You know me so well…"

She ignored her, and looked again into the box where the pendant had been to take out an enormous bag filled with the candy he used to steal from her. Even though he hadn’t dared to touch it since they had stopped talking. “…and this?,” she asked, her eyes seeking his.

He gave her a noncommittal shrug, trying not to show how nervous he was at the moment. “Just so you have your own stash for whenever I go crazy in one of my late night cravings. Just trying to be polite.”

"Of course," she accepted, nodding gravelly at him.

For everybody else, it was a nice, friendly exchange.

For them, it was a farce.

His friends laughed, picking up some of the candy for them, and while Emma put everything she had gotten away in a pile and used a bag for the discarded wrap paper, Aurora picked up a forgotten gift on the table. “Hey, Emma - you have one left.”

She whirled around, a frown marring her forehead in confusion. “Who is it from?”

Aurora examined the box, turning it in her hands and shrugging. “It… doesn’t say?”

"Huh. Maybe it is from my grandma who sent it along. Well, open it!," Ruby commented, confused as well, but urging her friend to show what was inside. Emma nearly whimpered, completely tired of being the center of attention he was sure, and finally got the lid open to examine what it was they had sent along.

"…oh."

"What is it?"

She gingerly took out the object in her hands so they could all take a peek of it. “A hat.”

It was, in fact, a hat. A black, felt, hat. A simple hat, really. Yet she was clutching it like something would snatch it from her fingers if she wasn’t careful enough. Like it was something precious to her.

Ruby jumped then, a loud gasp escaping her red lips. “Oh my God, it looks  _exactly_  like that one you lost, remember?”

They all exchanged confused glances between them, and Killian mimicked their expressions - even if he did know what the two girls were referring to. Emma didn’t even look at her; she kept staring at the hat in her hands, a myriad of emotions playing over her face. “Yeah, it does. Crazy, right?”

She all but yelped in surprise when Graham took it in his hands and put it over her head, adjusting it playfully over her curls. “It looks good on you,” he commented after inspecting her, stroking his chin and smiling fondly at her. Killian ignored the scene playing in front of him, opting to take a sip of his beer until August - always the voice of reason - called for attention. “We’re going to be late - we should get going.”

The whole group managed to clean off the table of the leftovers and dirty cutlery, and in a matter of minutes they were all putting on their jackets and slanging purses over shoulders, going out of the door. Killian stayed behind to go to the bathroom, kissing Milah briefly and assuring her he’d lock the place before he left. When he got out, though, he was completely taken aback when he found Emma waiting for him sitting on the couch, a curious expression thrown his way. He stood in front of her, not sure what to say or do, waiting for her to talk or at least tell him what the hell she was doing there, alone. With him.

She was positively driving him  _nuts_.

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled and said, “Thank you.”

"For what?"

"Don’t act innocent with me. You’re the only one I told about that story - and saw the pictures. Coincidence? I think not."

His lips twitched, recalling that night. They had been bored and he had brought his laptop with him, and they had stalked each other’s pictures just to make fun of each other. When he had laughed at a couple of photographs in which she was wearing a black hat, she had slapped his arm and said how she had mourned the loss of said hat, and explained how much she had adored it and wished she could find another one just like that one.

When he had been told about Emma’s birthday, he had raked his brain for something to give to her. The candy had been all something to give for the audience - even though he was sure she’d appreciate it nevertheless, - but when the sudden memory of the lost hat had assaulted him, he knew he had to make sure she got it. He wasn’t sure she’d know it was from him - and he wouldn’t tell her if she didn’t, he just wanted her to have it back, as she had spoken of the thing like it was golden or something, - but he got this tiny part of him wishing that she would put two and two together and, hopefully, forgive him at last.

"It was nothing, Swan. Everybody gets presents for their birthdays. Don’t read too much into it," he played it off, his body tensing uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

Her eyes met his in a slightly defiant stare. “I won’t. Just wondering then why didn’t you say it was from you.”

His face broke into a knowing grin, dipping his head in her direction and dropping his voice. “What’s a party without a little bit of mystery?”

She made a face at him, a real ‘I-see-your-bullshit’ mask on place. “Sure.”

His smile faded slowly as he stared at her, hard, hat still over her curls. She looked amazing, as always. Clearing his throat, he added, “And of course, it looks great on you - maybe I was just being selfish?”

They both stared at each other for a whole minute, just trying to read the other, an unspoken conversation between them that could have been filled with angry yells and accusations in complete silence. He took in the light freckles on her nose, her pale cheeks, the glow in her eyes, and he wished for the hundredth time that she would let him in once more, if not for the sole reason of being able to stare at her and knowing she wouldn’t have a problem with it.

And, all of a sudden, it happened.

Her smile started off small, until it spread across her lips and made her whole face glow. “You and your riddles,” she chuckled.

And he knew he was forgiven.

He felt so elated he wanted to scream, yet all he managed was to flash her a cocky grin in response. “You love them.”

"Oh, I really do," she countered back.

He didn’t know if it was wishful thinking or his muddled brain after the realization that she had let go of her anger towards him, but he felt like she had meant it in another way.

Like she really loved  _something_  else apart from his riddles.

Or  _someone_. 

___________________________________________________________________

 

"Fuck it…" Killian tried to call once again, but Emma wasn’t picking it up. He was standing outside of her apartment, waiting to see if she could open the door for him. Milah had forgotten her keys and had sent him in a panic to look for them while she was in a really important meeting of hers and, seeing as she didn’t want to bother her roommate just in case she had plans, had asked Killian to go and pick them up for her. This would be a really plausible plan if only Emma would deem it appropriate to open the fucking door, of course.

Reaching her voicemail for the sixth time since he had been standing there waiting for her to show up, he was about to give up when he heard soft padding sounds inside the apartment, and a sound closer to a growl than anything escaped his lips, ready to give her a piece of his mind about properly using her freaking phone - or, you know, a doorbell. He was tired, he wanted to go home and lie down after the long day he’d had, and he by all means wasn’t looking forward to have to drive all the way to Milah’s work just to give her her keys, but he had promised he would, and he couldn’t leave her hanging now, as much as he wished to go all ‘fuck it all to hell’ and go drink himself into oblivion or something.

A scathing remark on the tip of his tongue, the door opened after the unmistakable sound of clinking of the locks, but it never came out, as before him stood a very,  _very_  wet Emma Swan, wearing a bathrobe, her skin pink and flushed and steam coming off of her in waves along with droplets of water falling from her nose and hair.

Something inside of him seemed to break loose at her sight.

He gathered her in his arms and pressed his lips fiercely to hers, swallowing her surprised gasp. Then, to his delight - and not so much surprise, he acknowledged in a faraway corner of his mind, - she was kissing him back, and Killian could feel the final wall between them crumbling away. There were no more barriers, nothing between Emma Swan and him, nothing to make him try to question what the hell he was thinking by barging into her place and kissing the fuck out of her, and it made him feel naked and vulnerable, but free at the same time. He put everything he had into their kiss – poured all of his confusion, uncertainty, fear, and joy into it, until he felt as if he had emptied out his soul and poured it into her. He spread his hands against the small of her back, pulling her body flush against his, while she began clawing frantically at his shirt. She unbuttoned it and slid the material off his shoulders to let it drop to the floor. Then her hands and mouth were everywhere at once, exploring his chest, his neck, his stomach…

Killian groaned at the overwhelming sensation. His skin felt hypersensitive to every kiss and caress Emma bestowed upon it. When he thought he would explode if he had to endure the sweet torture any longer, he pushed her gently away, and he studied her under his eyelashes when his hands came to grip the edges of her bathrobe, an unspoken question in his eyes. Realizing his intentions, her own came to rest upon his, letting it open tantalizingly slowly, baring her to him. His sharp intake of breath when she stood there in front of him, completely naked and still wet from her shower, was lost to the soft thud of the robe falling, now added to the growing pile of clothing on the floor.

Killian stared and stared, drinking in the sight of her and thinking that she had never looked so beautiful - and that was saying something. Not in that dress in the club, not even in her pajamas, not her usual work clothes. She exuded this charm, this irrational beauty no matter what she was doing or wearing, it was difficult not to feel drawn to her. His eyes raked hungrily over the curves of her hips, her slender waist, her breasts, her wet hair. Then he let his hands follow the same path his eyes had just taken, as he traced every curve and dimple of her body, learning the texture of her skin and wishing he had all the time in the world to do so. At first his touch was timid, as he waited to see her reaction; Killian was firmly convinced that she would soon jerk away from him and accuse him of accosting her, of daring to cheat on Milah with her, and every other horrible thing she could - and  _should_  - throw at him. But, to his utmost surprise - and traitorous relief - soon the awkwardness between them melted away, as if they had been doing this together for ages instead of right now, and as she responded enthusiastically to his ministrations, his caresses became firmer and more confident.

Emma’s head fell back and her eyes drifted closed as he explored her stomach, taut and pale and so fucking soft to touch. When his hands went to cup her breasts, she let out a moan full of need and arched into his touch, and with a hiss of pleasure, she proceeded to hurriedly unbutton his trousers. He stepped out of them and his boxers, not even questioning it - he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, what the hell was he doing either way? - and, with a growl, he brought his mouth crashing down on hers once more, no longer any hesitation or uncertainty in their kiss. They kissed just as they did anything else in life – aggressively and passionately, with each of them fighting for dominance over the other.

Through a fog of need and desire, Killian tried to think of the best way to transport the two of them to the bedroom, but when Emma urgently stroked him with her hand, any thoughts of moving anywhere flew out the window. With growing impatience, he grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her up against the wall. She gasped, and he looked down at her with concern, afraid that he had hurt her by banging her head in the process. But there was no pain in her eyes - only a burning, all-consuming desire.

"Killian, please," she whispered. He let out a loud whimper - it was the first time she ever called him by his name. She wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him in even closer, and he very nearly was done right then. Both of them were trembling like leaves, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. He stared at her, a hand coming up to cup her cheek and feeling like a complete coward, silently begging her to ask him to stop. It wasn’t too late for them to go back. It wasn’t too late to try to fix this, whatever it was that was going on between them.

It wasn’t too late to try to step back and… And what?

Who the fuck did he think he was kidding, they had crossed that line since the moment he laid eyes on her.

When he saw his own unwavering passion laced with desperation mirrored in her eyes, with another deep breath, he was finally sinking into her, until he was buried to the hilt in her warm depths.

"God, Emma," he groaned. His head fell forward to rest on her shoulder as he tried to gather his senses. She stroked his back reassuringly, and he pulled out and sank into her again, making both of them moan from the friction. The pleasure was almost unbearable. At first his movements were excruciatingly slow, but then he picked up speed, moving faster and deeper with each thrust. Soon they were both covered in a fine sheen of sweat, making it more difficult for him to maintain his grip on her, and his arms and thighs were burning from the strain, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. All of this was lost in the taste of her lips and the feel of her hands as they explored all the places where their bodies joined.

"This… this…is," Killian rasped. "I don’t know what this is."

"Then shut the fuck up, Killian," she said, just as breathlessly.

"Say it again," he whispered.

"Shut the fuck up."

"No, not that." He laughed, breathlessly. "Say my name."

"Killian."

"Again," he demanded, as he squeezed one hand in between them to stroke her. She gasped and twitched at his touch.

"Killian… Killian… Killian!" she cried out as she convulsed in his arms, her head lolling back against the wall, and he began thrusting even harder than before. He could feel his own orgasm building, but he forced himself to focus on Emma, with her flushed cheeks and her moist lips parted in a silent scream of pleasure. He had wondered how she’d look in the throes of passion so many times, so many hours at night - and day - trying to imagine how she’d feel under him, how she’d taste, how she’d react to him, and now he was presented with the real thing, the sight of her face in front of him so divine, that he didn’t want to lose any second of it. It wasn’t later when he had to bury his face in the crook of her neck to stifle a shout as white light tinted the edge of his vision as he reached his peak.

Killian’s knees nearly buckled with exhaustion as he set her awkwardly back on the ground. He kept one arm looped around her waist, and used the other to brace himself against the wall. They were both breathing as hard as if they had just run a marathon. And in a way, maybe they had. He nearly jumped in surprise when Emma reached up to brush his sweaty fringe out of his eyes, and he couldn’t restrain himself from giving her a slow, soft kiss at her sudden gesture of tenderness.

He pulled away, still breathless, and tipped his forehead against hers, dreading the moment she’d come back to her senses and acknowledge what they had just done.

What they had broken.

What they had started.

When guilt, reason and reality would come crashing down on them.

"This… was a mistake," she finally whispered against his lips, and he fought the urge to close the gap between them once more.

Fuck it.

Kissing her once more, he answered in the same hushed voice, “A perfect mistake.”

He didn’t know what compelled him to say it, but it just seemed like the right thing to say. It had been perfect, it had been everything that he had ever imagined it would feel with her. Yet he all but couldn’t deny the ugly truth: that it had been a mistake, as she wasn’t his, and he wasn’t hers. Even if they had been each other’s for a short time, it had been an illusion.

Who knew how it’d feel if there were no restrictions, nothing to pay respect to.

Apparently, it wasn’t what Emma wanted to hear, as her hands came up and pushed his chest lightly, so she could step around him and snatch her bathrobe from the floor, gingerly putting it back on under his scrutinizing stare. “Stop it,” she muttered while he padded to where his underwear and pants laid hazardously a few feet away. After dressing himself, he whirled around to face her, as she stood in the middle of the living room biting her bottom lip, a hand massaging her temples in distress.

"Emma. Stop blaming yourself. I am the one in a relationship here, not you," he told her, the truth behind his words leaving him completely speechless for a moment. God, what had he done? What was he going to tell Milah? Was he going to? She would kick Emma out as soon as she heard. Fuck, he was screwed. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Before his thoughts could spiral out of control and he threw himself out of the balcony in an easy exit to his problems, Emma laughed mirthlessly in front of him, a dark, pained sound that made him wince, knowing how the real thing could be - knowing how Emma’s real smile and laugh could probably cure cancer if bottled up, as he had told her once when he had been too far gone one night at a party not long ago. “Great, being the home-wrecker is  _way_  better.”

He lifted astonished eyes in her direction. What did she mean? “Home-wrecker?”

She stopped herself, frozen in her spot. The dubious tone she used just then made his heart ache for her all over again, the faraway look on her eyes giving her that abandoned young girl quality he so hated to see in them. “What are you going to do?”

Oh, God. She had immediately come to the conclusion that he’d leave Milah for her? But…

"I - I don’t know," he finally managed awkwardly, attempting not to look like a complete asshole and a coward wringing his hands together and shuffling on his feet like a compete idiot. Quite the challenge at the moment.

"Well, then you should have started right there." He only had time to see her damp hair billowing around her as she turned around and marched in long strides in her bedroom’s direction, the venom in her voice palpable. He followed her, not knowing what he was expecting from this exchange at all.

Like every one of them he had had with her since they had met, if he pondered about it.

"Emma…"

He was cut off when she spun on her feet once more and nearly ran into him, her nose nearly brushing his chest, her finger pointed at him menacingly. “No, you don’t get to ‘Emma’ me. You don’t just get to… come in here, fuck me against the wall and go your merry way. I was fine, I was okay until you showed up in my life! And now, now everything is ruined. What have I done?,” she nearly yelled, anguish lacing her words. “All my life I have looked down at girls who did this to their friends. And now I’ve become one of them. What does this say about me?”

Killian felt his own anger take control of him, snapping something that had been festering inside of him since this girl had waltzed into his life and all but made a mess of it. Snatching her hand in his in a sudden move that seemed to take her aback, he countered back in a growl, “You think this is easy for me? I was the one who was fine and dandy until you came! For fuck’s sake, I have been with my girlfriend for ten years -  _ten_! And you show up, with your hair and your stupid sweet smell and your sad eyes and your tiny smiles and you make me want to tear out my hair every time I see you because you’re so goddamm stubborn and beautiful and you make me  _sick_.”

By the time he was done, his chest was heaving against hers, energy seemingly leaving him in waves as he poured everything out for her to see.

"Well, you do make me sick too, buddy, so welcome aboard the horribly confused and fucked-up people club," she all but spat, sea-green eyes blazing up at his face, the intensity in them nearly scorching him.

"Don’t you dare laugh at me, Emma."

She freed her wrist from his grasp with a violent tug, stepping back from his body in an attempt to put space between them. “I am really not. I just - I gotta go. I cannot stay here any longer.”

…oh, no.

"What?"

She had been retreating back to her room - and he, like a lost puppy, of course had had to follow her, both of them standing in the doorframe, her inside and him just on the threshold. Waiting for what, he mused to himself. What did he think he was doing, for that matter? Putting a stray lock of hair behind her ear, she sent him a tired look, like she knew what was going to happen. He’d love some tips, as he had no fucking clue what to do. “Why did you come here today?”

"I had to pick up Milah’s keys and give them to her."

"And you’ll stay with her later." It wasn’t a question.

"Probably."

"And you’ll sleep with her."

"Emma…"

"And I will be behind that wall. I…," her voice caught, and he saw her squeezing her eyes shut - but not fast enough that he couldn’t spy the moisture gathering in them. "I can’t. I won’t be able to stand it." Breathing deeply, she finally opened them once more to peer at him under her lashes, the vulnerability from earlier gone, now replaced by a harsh determination. "And I’m sorry, but I cannot look at her in the face after this. I just can’t. She’s been anything but kind to me since I moved here, and how do I repay her? By fucking her boyfriend. A+ friend material, I am."

The self-loathing in her speech made Killian want to beat himself to death. He had made this to her. He had all but pushed her away by taking what he had though would made them - make them  _what_? In what fucking alternate universe had he thought this would be a good idea at all? “And what are you going to do? Just -  _disappear_?”

"It has worked quite well for me in the past."

"Please, Emma, don’t do this," he begged her, not ashamed at his pleading tone. She hung her head, not daring to meet his eyes, choosing to stare at her bare feet and the tiny droplets of water that had followed her path since she had left her shower.

"It’s the only way."

"It is not. Just…"

She cut him off before he could continue, shaking her head sadly. “You’re not leaving her - nor do I want you to.”

"You don’t?"

"I… I don’t know. It sounds selfish to want you just by taking away someone else’s happiness." Killian stared at her in wonder. This would have been the first time that he had seen her open herself up to him, the most sincere she had ever been since he had come to meet her. She shook her head, defeated, fingers caressing her tear-stained cheeks. "Either way, I can’t blame you. You’re choosing her. I’m way used to no one choosing me." Her voice dropped so much that he could barely catch what she said then. "I wouldn’t choose me either."

And the pain that he had thought he was feeling, that he had thought was already the worst he had ever felt in his whole life, multiplied at the sight of her broken self. He stepped towards her, coming to step almost inside her bedroom, frantic desperation now clouding his actions and words. “Emma, please. I… I need time. I don’t know what to do.”

She smiled softly at him, with such tenderness and near adoration but clogged with misery at the same time that he found himself unable to breath. “But you do. And I love you for it. For choosing the harder path and trying to save a relationship you’ve worked so hard for in the first place.” She put a hand over his chest, where his heart kept hammering loudly, a beating drum announcing the tragedy, the climax of the scene, the parting of the star-crossed lovers.

"I don’t want to lose you," he murmured, taking her hand in his and kissing her fingers tenderly, a quick brush of lips on skin. More tears escaped her eyes, sparkling against her pale skin in the dim light of the room behind her, and she released her hand once more, stepping back, coming further inside her haven, her home.

Her home that now would be no more if she left.

"But that’s the thing. You’ve never had me," she confessed. "Goodbye, Jones."


	2. lost and found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> epilogue one

Killian nearly knocked over a couple of nuns who turned to him, completely scandalized, as he made a ridiculous twirl to shout over his shoulder his apologies and continued his frantic pace to Milah’s place. He had promised himself he wouldn’t go, but hell, had he listened to anything his conscience or his fucking common sense had warned him since Emma Swan moved into his girlfriend’s apartment? Not at all. He _really_ shouldn’t go either way, in fact he was sure it was the stupidest idea he had had in a long time. Though that last time he had seen Emma ranked quite high in the list, to be completely honest.

Stupid... and painful. And perfect. And conflicting. And everything he wanted but at the same time shouldn’t have. 

What was the point in showing up there, really? She had made it pretty clear she was leaving, and she didn’t want to see him again, and he, if anything, was a gentleman, and should consider her wishes...

But he couldn’t just let her leave without saying goodbye, now, could he? That wasn’t very gentlemanly. 

The sudden realization that she was really, _really_ leaving nearly knocked him down to his knees in the middle of the sidewalk, halting him to a stop. 

Emma was leaving.

He would not see her again, at least not in Milah’s apartment. In fact, if she had any say in the matter, he guessed she’d make everything in her power not to cross paths with him ever again.

If those weeks of not talking and ignoring him had been painful enough, he didn’t even want to imagine how it would be after she left now. Especially after what had happened the last time they had been together alone. No more popcorn shared while watching movies, or knocking on her door to check out if she wanted anything from the store, or candy shared at ungodly hours of the morning while both of them were still awake finishing something work related.

Not even a miserable goodbye kiss.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his mind of thoughts of that day, he set his jaw and resumed his running, Milah’s street now a couple of blocks away. He rounded the corner and a flash of bright yellow caught his eye: Emma’s bug was parked by the sidewalk, some bags on the ground waiting to be put away in the trunk. Milah and Emma stood amongst them, and he approached them, studying Milah’s expression as he did, as Emma’s back was to him. She looked sad - and she was, she had been really put out by the idea of her roommate leaving, especially after bonding with her so much during the year, even if Emma had fought so hard to keep everybody at arm’s length since she had moved in. 

“You got everything?” Milah was asking her, fiddling with her hands nervously. Killian bit his lip, still striding in their direction, now carefully, trying not to interrupt them.

“Yeah, Billy just called - he drove everything to my new place,” Emma answered, and her head tilted to the side, letting out a tiny groan. “Don’t look at me like that, please.”

“I’ll just miss you.”

Emma sighed, hurriedly hiding her hands inside her jean pockets. “I’ll miss you too. I’m so sorry this is so sudden, I hate leaving you now with the mess of looking for someone else with such short notice...”

Milah didn’t even let her finish the sentence, coming to stand right before her and putting her hands on Emma’s shoulders and looking her straight in the eye. “Don’t worry about it. Just... try to drop off here and there, please?”

Now just a couple of feet away from them, Killian couldn’t help but observe Emma’s face, how she tried to mask her features into a hopeful and reassuring façade for Milah’s sake, when he all but knew that she wouldn’t get any calls from her anytime soon. 

“I’ll try,” she finally said. Killian chose that moment to step in, clearing his throat. Milah dropped her hands from Emma and came to stand beside him, hooking an arm around his middle. “Hey. Just on time.”

He looked down at her, trying to smile despite the frozen-feeling of his facial muscles as he did. It actually _hurt_ to fake it. “You can call me out on anything except my punctuality.” She punched him lightly on the arm and shook her head, amused, and he chuckled in return. Lifting his gaze from her, he finally let himself stare at Emma, who had retreated a couple of steps from them and closer to her car, like she felt some sort of comfort from it, like it was a constant in her life. It probably was. “You’re all packed,” he acknowledged, lifting a brow and scanning briefly the bags surrounding them.

She crossed her arms across her chest, rolling her eyes in his direction. “Moving out does have that effect.” 

He had imagined in his head how their next encounter after their last one would go, but he definitely hadn’t expected that. Before he could come up with anything to retort with, Milah’s gasp stopped him, choosing to stare worriedly at her. “Wait - I forgot. I have some cookies I baked for you.”

Emma groaned again, even stomping her feet on the ground like a little girl. “Milah...”

“I’ll be back in a second! Just for the ride. Or for a few days. Just so you feel like you’re at home,” Milah explained, her voice dropping at the end and letting her eyes fall to her feet, now shining in the morning sun. Killian wanted nothing more than to kick himself in that moment - if he hadn’t let himself fall for Emma, kiss her and everything that came after that, she wouldn’t be leaving, and his girlfriend wouldn’t be devastated because of losing a roommate. And a friend.

A beautiful, broken friend. 

Sensing her former roommate’s possible breakdown, Emma sighed, dropping her shoulders and giving her consent. “Okay.” Milah nodded, and twirled around, going back inside the building to fetch her parting treat, leaving them alone on the sidewalk. He shuffled on his feet, mimicking her previous actions and putting his hands inside his pockets, and mustering all his courage to look her in the eye.

“So.”

“So.”

He stepped closer to her, turning to stare at her car for a moment and returning back to her the next. “Are you sure you have to do this?”

Sighing defeatedly, she tugged at a loose curl that had escaped her bun. She dropped her eyes to the bags at her feet. “Don’t start.”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” he stated. And he really couldn’t. He couldn’t wrap it around his head, that she would be gone, maybe in question of minutes. His feet had unconsciously brought him closer to her, and he found himself right in front of her, her scent momentarily making him dizzy, bringing him images and ghost sensations from that day.

“We’ve talked about this...,” she tried to argue, not daring to meet his eyes.

His hand leapt out without his consent, taking her wrist right before she tried to pull back from him. “Actually no, _you_ talked and decided for the two of us.”

And she had in fact. After she had closed her bedroom door in his face, he had stayed in there, head plopping against it in complete despair as he fought the urge to scream and pray for a miracle, a sign, something to help him get through this. What was he supposed to do then? Emma had made it clear that she was not even going to try to fight for him, for them. Should he tell Milah? But that would go against everything that Emma was doing then, right? She was supposedly leaving so he could stay happily ever after with his relationship.

Everything had become so fucked up in such a short time.

Who was he kidding, everything was still fucked up.

Emma yanked her wrist from his grip in an unexpected move, making him stumble on his feet and looking up at her. “I’m not fighting with you before I leave, okay, so if you want to start a row, I’m not in the mood.” She massaged her temples in a tired manner, turning her head towards her car and hauling a couple of her bags and rounding the bug to put them away inside the trunk. He took the rest in his hands, following her and ignoring her grimace when she saw him helping her. He stood beside her, settling her things along with the rest and, when he was done, he set his hands on the yellow surface of the car, not daring to look at her as he asked her something that he was dreading to find out.

“Will I see you again?”

She froze at his side, her hands clenching into fists next to his. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

She let out a dark chuckle, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe she had to explain herself. Well, tough luck, blondie: he really needed to know. “The leaving thing is to avoid you, you know,” she said, rounding the car again and leaning against the side, facing the door of the building that led to her former apartment.

Her former home.

He followed her steps, but setting himself in front of her, blocking her view so she wouldn’t be able to avoid his gaze. “No it’s not. It’s because you’re running.”

He wasn’t sure if he was more glad to see that spark in her eyes once more or afraid of it. He was more than used to Emma’s rage, and it didn’t usually end well when he met that side of her. Though their emotions were such a whirlwind lately, he didn’t know what to expect anymore.

Squaring her shoulders, she set him with a hard look, not tearing her eyes from his. “You should be a little more grateful. I’m leaving you a clear path for you to keep being happy and not interfering in your life and here you are, being a douche about it.”

He felt himself growing angrier at her words, and felt tempted to grab her once again, but thought better of it and stayed put, opting for glaring at her instead. He finally managed in between clenched teeth, “Don’t play martyr with me when I have _never_ asked you to do this. Have you wondered that I may want you to interfere in my life? To actually _stay_ in it?”

He hated the fact that he was pretty close to falling to his knees and begging her to stay. Which was completely ridiculous and out of line, but he just couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want her to go. But he didn’t want her to hurt, and if she stayed, she would get hurt. And so would he.

In conclusion, he didn’t have a fucking clue of what he felt. Or what he wanted. Or anything. 

“Jones...,” she nearly whimpered, clenching her eyes shut and letting her head fall back against the car.

“Emma,” he mimicked, trying to convey his desperation in that one word. A word he had yelled, he had screamed, he had whispered, he had repeated reverently in her ear against that wall. 

He stepped up once more towards her so that they were face to face, his nose nearly brushing hers. He could see her pulse jumping furiously at the side of her pale neck, and he wished he could kiss it, bite it. He shook his head, fuzzy thoughts mingling in a fog clouding his mind and judgement.

He knew he shouldn’t be standing this close to her.

He knew it was dangerous.

And hell, did he know he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if she let herself go with him.

Unless she stopped it all. Which she did.

“...can’t you just hug me goodbye and leave it be?,” she managed in a voice barely above a whisper, and they were standing so close that he breathed in her words, filling him and warming his insides. Until he realized what they meant.

_Goodbye_.

He pulled back a hair, staring down intensely at those sea-green eyes, now open, vulnerable and lost seeking his. “Is it what you really want? What will make you happy?”

He dreaded her answer. He knew what she was going to say, but it made him flinch either way. Like ripping out a band aid and expecting the pain that you know is coming - but it hurts either way. 

“Yes.”

It felt like a whip coming down to slap his skin brutally, leaving a horrendous bruise and mark in its wake and an unbearable pain to nurse behind. Yet here, facing her and knowing that she meant her words, those scars were invisible to the eye. Even if he wanted to scream the same as if they had been inflicting such torture upon him.

Widening his arms, he enveloped her in them, crushing her small, fragile body against him. “Then by all means, who am I to deny you anything.” _I’ve never been. What’s different this time,_ he thought to himself sarcastically _._ He felt her head leaning against his shoulder, and he dropped a soft kiss at the top of her hair, inhaling her scent maybe for a last time, attempting to memorize it. He didn’t even know how to describe it; jasmine, roses or all those signature smells failing him in his attempt. How would a hidden smile smell? That would be Emma’s scent. 

They stayed like that for a moment, and Killian felt himself wishing not to let go, wishing for her not to let _him_ go. 

But they did, of course. He wasn’t even aware of her arms slipping from his body, or of Milah coming out of the building with her bag full of cookies, or of Emma hugging her goodbye, or the tears in her eyes that she carefully tried to hide as she set herself behind the wheel, waving one final time before driving away, calling a sad“I’ll miss you guys” behind her. He felt like he was in some kind of limbo, a daze in which Emma was gone.

That was impossible, right? How would she leave?

He didn’t come out of it until he heard Milah calling at the yellow flash now disappearing out of sight “We’ll miss you too! Don’t forget to call!”. She tightened her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulder, and the sudden flash of déjà vu of blonde curls pressed against the same spot not minutes ago felt like a slap to his face. He closed his eyes, so tight until he could see brilliant colors and strange forms dancing in his mind, like he used to do when he was a kid to try to stop himself from doing or saying something stupid.

Something like _she’s gone_.

 

**(.)**

 

“How’s it going?” Milah came behind him while he sat on her couch, his laptop balanced over his legs while he furiously typed at a nearly diabolical speed, his eyes never leaving the screen before him, now becoming blurry and full of nonsense - urging him to select the whole paragraph and erase it. 

Setting back against the couch, he pinched the bridge of his nose, turning the side of his face to pout at her. “I’m blocked. You know those days when words just don’t flow? This paper is killing me.” He cocked an eyebrow as an obnoxious singing came from the bathroom at the end of the hall, and they both suppressed a grin, even if he was more than ready to get up and strangle the opera singer amateur in the shower Psycho-style. “And your new roommate’s singing isn’t helping.”

“She’s not that bad,” Milah protested, now openly grinning at him. Of course she’d say that. To be fairly honest, Tamara wasn’t that bad: she was a _hottie_ , as his mates had assured him when they met her on one of their nights out and Milah had invited her to come along - even though he didn’t quite see it. Sure, she was pretty, but she lacked... something. He didn’t really want to go further into why a girl who would have been quite the bombshell a year ago now seemed plain in his eyes. She was quite fun to be around, and really smart; she worked for some weird company which designed really cool high tech products. She also had a boyfriend, some guy named Greg - he had met him once or twice, and though they hadn’t talked much, Killian hadn’t gotten a good vibe about him.

He despised people who made fun of his slang before actually knowing them.

“Whatever you say,” he claimed, rolling his eyes and going back to his paper, kissing her good night before she padded silently to her room. He continued his typing, raking his brain for words to fill the nearly-blinding whiteness of the pages in front of him when a voice behind the couch startled him. He took off his earphones and turned back to look at the door leading to the living room, and found Tamara standing there, biting her bottom lip worriedly as she mimicked knocking on the wall at her side to call for his attention. “Hey... guys?”

“It’s only me, Milah is in her bedroom,” he told her, jerking his chin in the direction of Milah’s room to further proof his point, absently wondering what she could possibly want at that hour.

“Oh.” She worried her hands with something she was holding in her hands, not meeting his eyes as she stood on her spot. 

“What is it?” It wasn’t very Tamara-ish, from what he had come to know of her, to act this weirded out or shy.

She sighed, approaching him silently in those confident strides of hers. She held out her hand to him, offering him what she had been fiddling with earlier in the doorway. “Just - I found this in my bedroom. I guess the girl who lived in here before forgot it or something? Emma, was it?” He took it from her and inspected it closely, confused. They hadn’t checked Emma’s room when she had left - he hadn’t wanted to go close to that room since then, and had promised himself he would never set foot in it again. A sudden wave of recognition crashed over him and he inhaled sharply when he realized it was a robe. 

The robe. The fucking robe.

And oh, how would Victor love that play of words if he knew.

“Yeah. Emma,” he muttered in an strangled voice, and promptly cleared his throat to mask the tightness he felt constricting not only his vocal chords, but his heart at the sight of the piece of clothing. He couldn’t help the light caress of his fingers over the material, as if he could in a sick way ghost them over Emma’s skin just by using it as some kind of voodoo doll. 

He didn’t know - or care, at that point, - if Tamara was examining him, but he guessed she really wasn’t, as she went on like nothing had happened. “I just thought, you know, like you guys are friends with her and all, could give it back to her. Or, I don’t know. I didn’t think it’d be okay to just throw it away before consulting it with you.”

He clenched his hands around the robe protectively at the thought of throwing it away, and silently considered that it had been a nice gesture of her to go to them first. 

To go to him first, even if she of course didn’t know how the fact that he was holding the last memento of Emma’s presence in that apartment affected him. 

He nodded to her, giving her a small smile full of gratitude. “Of course. Thank you. I’ll make sure she gets it back.”

“Great,” she said, shrugging lightly and waving back a soft good night as she retreated back to her room, leaving him sitting there, clutching the robe in his lap, all notions of actually finishing that paper in time flying out of the window. He knew if he tried to set to write something in that moment, he’d end up typing a furious letter to Emma or something equally pathetic. 

Not as pathetic as bringing the robe to his nose and inhale, the sudden realization that the hidden smile scent he had come to associate with her was gone, now replaced by the one from Milah’s soap.  

 

 

(.)

 

“I can’t believe it is over.” Milah kept staring ahead of her, sitting right at his side and yet Killian felt like she was miles away from him. It was an odd feeling, considering they had been together for so long, and she had always been the person he had felt the closest tosince he could remember. 

It was also heartbreaking.

“I know.” 

She kept talking like she was addressing an invisible audience sitting in front of them instead of to him. “But I love you.” 

He dropped his face on his open palms, rubbing it tiredly as he tried to explain to her what was, sadly, the ugly truth. The one that they had been too cowardly, too stubborn, too comfortable that they had denied for so long. “But you’re not in love with me.” 

She finally acknowledged him, turning tearful eyes in his direction, and the sight sent a pang of guilt and despair through him. He _hated_ seen her cry, and knowing that it was because of him made him want to make it up to her in any way he could. But he knew he couldn’t. Sniffing softly, she uttered quietly, “How do you know that?” 

He tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, letting out a long sigh. God, he needed a drink after this. He mustered all of his courage to explain what he had been telling himself for weeks now, when he had finally seen what was going on between them. “I do. And, as much as it hurts to say it aloud, I - I am not in love with you either anymore.” He stared at her, a plea in his eyes and voice. “Should we keep going like this, knowing that this is the most we will get from each other? Wouldn’t you rather find what we used to have - or even more - with someone else?” 

She seemed to falter in her response, shaking fingers tugging at her hair. “I-I don’t know.” 

“Milah...” 

Her arms came up, waving them a little too frantically, and he was afraid for a moment that she’d have some kind of stress attack or something. But that was not Milah: she was passionate and emotional, but she also knew when it was wise to fight her battles. 

And he knew she was aware of the outcome of this battle in particular. It was a losing battle.

She was just afraid of the consequences of this dreadful situation they were in, and, as much as he hated it and it pained him, they had to face it. Together. 

Pushing a rebel lock of hair out of her eyes, she exclaimed, “I just don’t know how to process all of this. I knew it was coming, but I am afraid.” 

He took her face in his hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing patterns on her cheeks. “I am too. I am bloody terrified, believe me.” 

“You’ve been a part of my life for nearly eleven years, since I was practically a girl. I cannot see my future, _anything_ , what I am going to do without you.” 

He let his forehead fall against hers softly. “But you will still have me. Just... not in that way.” 

She closed her eyes, a silent tear falling down her cheek. He waited for her breathing to return to its normal pace, until he finally asked softly, hands still caressing her skin tenderly, “Will you be okay?” 

“Honestly? I expect I won’t at first. Will you?” 

He laughed mirthlessly. How could she think he would be okay? Even if he had been the one to approach this conversation, he was by no means happy about it. Was he supposed to be running around, cheering for his new single life or something? Because that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. He would mourn the death of this relationship; they had been together since they were practically kids. Eight years of anniversaries, Christmases, trips, nights shared together, fights. And he wouldn’t be forgetting them in a matter of days. Nor weeks. Not even months. “Definitely not,” he assured her, shaking his head. “But you know what? We’ll get there.” 

She peered at him, her eyes red and watery. “You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

Letting out a sob, she finally broke down, and as he had been since they had started dating, he was there to catch her. She laid on the couch, resting her head on his lap, hands over her mouth in an attempt to muffle her quiet sobs. She hated crying, he knew that. Always had. She hated appearing weak in front of anybody and, despite him being privy to more of her than she may let on to the rest, it was something she wasn’t really comfortable with even in front of him. When her crying calmed down, he heard her whispering in between sniffles, “I love you, you know.” 

His hand acted on its own accord, going to her chin and tilting it up so she’d meet his eyes. “And I love you. I’d do anything for you.” 

“Even staying with me?” 

He bit his lip until he nearly drew blood, the metallic taste clearing his thoughts while he gazed down at her with a serious expression. “Everything but that. If I knew that’d make you happy and not just extend the comfort-zone hiatus thing our relationship has become, I would, I swear. But this?,” he said, waving a finger pointing first at him and then at her, “This is not what we deserve. We deserve more. I wouldn’t change anything of our relationship, anything you’ve given me. Anything. But we both know this is not like when we started.” 

There was a pause, in which only their breathing and quiet sniffing from Milah was heard. “Why do people fall out of love?,” she wondered aloud, her voice catching at the end. He clenched his eyes shut, fighting the urge to hold her to him and promise her his undying love. But that was it - they had been lying to themselves for too long. Of course they loved each other, but along the way, he had forgotten what it felt like to be in love with each other.

And he had had to be reminded the hard way: by falling for another woman.

How fucked up was that.

He shook his head, not knowing really how to answer her. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just... life.” 

“Well, life’s a big fat bitch,” she deadpanned, burying her nose against his chest, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at her tone, a mixture of defeat and indignation, kind of like what a child would use while whining about something.  

Passing his fingers through her hair as he had done countless times during their relationship, he confided in a whisper, “I agree.” He inclined his head to leave a kiss on her hairline, his breath moving stray dark curls from her face. She closed her eyes, a lone tear escaping them and running down her cheek, and she turned to stare up at him. He was more than surprised to see a glint of hope in her expression. 

“Do you think we will find someone who will make us feel like we did when we met?” 

He could only smile at her. The familiarity between them, the hundredths of times they had been in the same position and she had said something that made him grin at her was screaming at him to bend again and kiss her lips, but he stopped himself, his body nearly jerking in the process. He nodded in the end, grinning lightly at her. “I’m sure you will.” 

She smiled in return, settling herself more comfortably in his lap. “What about you?” 

What about him, indeed.

He was afraid that he had already found that person and had let her go, that was about it. Or that she would never give him the chance to prove how much he wanted to try to be that person for her again.

Shrugging and feeling completely exhausted, he rested his head against the armrest of the couch, where he could stare at her easily, thoughts of stormy eyes glistening with tears just like the ones in front of him haunting him. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

 

**(.)**

 

 

“Give it back.”

“Not a chance.”

“Come on, dude. You always choose what we’re watching.”

Killian groaned loudly while he shuffled the cards in his hands. “It’s poker night. Would you two idiots knock it off?” His friends just ignored him, still bickering back and forth between them for the remote. A knock in the door made him forget for a moment about his idiotic roommates and he made his way to the front door, where he was met with Jefferson and Graham, the rest of the group for the night they usually enjoyed together between cans of beers and red and black chips.

“Hey, boys,” Graham saluted mockingly at them, shaking hands and bumping fists as they settled themselves around the table, the cards and chips fixed before them and organized for the players to take as soon as they started. Killian walked to the kitchen, bringing a pack of beers under his arm and settling it under his chair - just for supervision in case Victor got a little wild - and took out a couple of them, giving one to him and opening one for himself. Clinking his can with his, he went to take a swig. “What’s up?”

Graham drank from his, leaving it back on the table with a soft ‘thud’. “Nothing much. Busy with training and all. Pretty chaotic.” His face darkened a bit, and he leaned in closer towards him. “By the way, so sorry to hear about you and Milah.”

He nodded somberly. He had been perfecting this kind of gracious answer since he and Milah had broken it off. It was kind of funny, it felt like someone had died and people were giving him their condolences. Although it was true that something had died: his relationship. “It’s fine. It had to happen, sooner or later.”

“But do tell him about the wonders of single life, Humbert! Now we’re a hungry pack going out, like the old days!,” Victor cheered, coming up behind him and stealing a beer for himself. The rest of them followed and soon they were all sitting around the table, dealing the cards and first round of betting about to start.

“But isn’t Humbert lusting after Milah’s ex roommate? Swan, was it?” 

Killian froze for a moment, and tried to appear unaffected as he kept the tabs on the game while his friends discussed the girl he had been thinking about for months since he had seen her last. 

A year and a half. He hadn’t heard of her or seen her for a fucking year and a half. 

Graham blinked, completely taken by surprise. “What are you talking about? I never even kissed her! I haven’t seen her in a lifetime!”

Killian let out a breath he hadn’t know he had been holding. After that whole spat with Emma about her flirting-non-flirting-whatever-that-had-been with his friend, he hadn’t given much thought to her and Humber together, but to be honest, sometimes the thought had consumed him with an unadulterated rage and jealousy. He had felt himself nearly go mad at the possibility of them being together while he was still waiting to find out where in hell had she gone since she had disappeared from his life.

Not daring to meet his eyes, opting to stare intently at the cards in his hands like they were the most fascinating thing in the world, he asked, “I thought you two got along?”

Graham sighed, reclining further into his seat and stretching his long legs under the table. “I thought so too, but after she moved out, I lost track of her. In fact, I think she was kind of avoiding me.”

“Awww, poor Humbert. Not every girl is mooning after you,” Victor quipped, patting him in the back in between chuckles. What a dick. 

“Shut it.”

Jefferson cocked his head to the side, like he was contemplating something, and finally shared, “I ran into her not long ago. Apparently she has been out of town, working on some stuff for a big client, but now she’s back.”

Woah, wait. He had seen Emma and he hadn’t said anything? What the hell?

Well, of course he wasn’t supposed to know anything concerning him and Emma. For him - and for everybody - Emma and he were just friends. Acquaintances. Ex-quasi-roommates, considering the time he used to spend at Milah’s. But nothing else, nothing more.

The truth, really. There was nothing else going on there. Not since she had left. 

August cocked an eyebrow, interested. Killian remembered he had quite liked Emma when they had met, so it was no surprise he would be willing to find out what had been of her since then. “Really? Where did you see her?”

“That bar where her friend used to bartend sometimes? The Lone Wolf? She was keeping her company,” Jefferson explained. Huh. He remembered that bar, Ruby had asked them to go once or twice to see her work. Or, better phrased, to give them free drinks as she laughed at them with Emma, Milah and Aurora.

It had been fun.

“No boyfriend in tow?,” Victor asked, and his head snapped up in alert so fast, he could hear his neck crack. 

Jefferson shrugged, and he had to will himself to stay put and not blow off his cover by shaking him to share whatever he had seen when he had run into her. “I didn’t ask. Though now that you mention it, there _was_ a guy with her... and she was pretty hot, not gonna lie. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t spend the night alone.”

His hand clenched in a fist as the words escaped his friend’s mouth, and he promptly hid it under the table, but not fast enough to avoid August’s eyes, who followed his movements interestedly. He tried to act nonchalant, and they all continued playing for a minute until August let out a sigh. He knocked one of his chips against his glass, the tickling noise bringing Killian out of his dark thoughts as his friend resumed the earlier conversation. “She was cool. It’d be fun to see her again,” he commented, looking directly in his direction.

He stared at his can in return, tracing with his finger the smooth metal and ignoring the piercing gaze of his friend and trying not to start the never ending game of imagining the countless scenarios in which he could run into Emma. “Yeah, definitely.”

 

**(.)**

 

 

Killian cautiously took a sip from his glass, scanning briefly the nearly packed room, small groups gathered here and there entranced in most assuredly intellectual conversations he’d understand a handful of words of. That was why he stayed by Victor’s side, silently gauging everybody’s reactions around them and quietly commenting his impressions with him. “This is too fancy.”

“It is not. It is cool, because we get to drink and act like pompous asses for free,” Victor refuted, and Killian contemplated how much his friend had had to drink since they had arrived. It was August’s first book’s presentation, and he couldn’t, for the life of him, understand why Victor would feel the need to drink himself into oblivion in such a posh place surrounded by the literary circles elite. He cocked an eyebrow at him, shaking his head in desperation.

“You are such an idiot, I cannot believe I am actually talking to you.”

Victor merely grinned mischievously at him, raising his glass with a mock wave. “And yet you live with me.”

“Aye, that I do.”

The man could cook, that was all he had for him or he would have kicked him out of his apartment long ago. No one needed to find out so much about a roommate’s anatomy as he had from Victor since they had started living together.  

August chose that moment to go back to their side, letting his relaxed pose and cool mask slip as he approached them. Killian passed him a glass he snatched from a table nearby, offering it to him as soon as he came. “Hey, the man himself. How is it going?”

August wiped a bead of sweat gathered on his brow, and Killian noticed, momentarily amused, how it was trembling slightly. It was quite strange to see his mate so flustered; he usually was the collected and reasonable one from the whole group. “Have I collapsed already? This whole things is making me dizzy.”

“Perks of being a published, coveted author,” he jested, a rueful smile curling at his lips at the sight of his friend tugging nervously at his tie. Poor guy. He fought once more with it until Killian had to assist him, and August seemed to deflate to a small extent under his care.

“Yeah, yeah. I guess you know I’m far more used to being alone writing, not all of… this,” he confessed, waving a hand around him motioning towards the tastefully decorated room and full of people they were in. 

Victor nodded gravely, raising his glass once more, and for once Killian thought he'd be serious about what he was about to add. “We know. We are far more used to being pressed up against hotties in clubs and bars rather than in art galleries discussing your prose, but hey, here we are.”

He had been wrong, of course.

August looked back at Killian, a sad acceptance in his expression as he regarded his friend. “Is he drunk already?”

“Don’t look at me,” he protested, ignoring Victor's outraged 'hey!' as they discussed his not so tolerant alcohol policy. They were interrupted then by a clearly excited voice that made them turn around, facing a stunning brunette in a red dress who walked towards them in long strides, heels clicking loudly against the marble floor as she got to their small clique and hugged each one of them tightly. “Ruby?”

She offered them a brilliant smile, all white teeth framed by perfectly painted red lips. “It’s been forever since I last saw you. How is it going?”

Killian grinned down at her, cocking his head to the side to signal his friend. “Not as good as August, I assure you.”

She turned to him, gasping loudly. “I know! He invited us the other day. He ran into us when we were out shopping, we had met with Aurora after months of not seeing her. Such a cutie,” she gushed, putting a hand over August's chest and smiling at him gratefully. Instead of laughing at his friend's flushed face at the brunette's oblivious flirting, something caught Killian’s attention from her words. His heart started hammering almost painfully against his ribcage, silently fighting the small dash of hope that had ignited inside of him. “Wait, you and...”

“Emma!” Victor had swiveled around and practically flung himself against a considerably smaller body, a blonde braid the only thing he could see as his friend whirled her around in a circle, laughing like a kid as he made her spin. When he finally put her down, Emma used his arm for support for a moment, petting it with more force than necessary while he looked up at him with flushed cheeks. “Hey yourself Whale. You are _definitely_ not drunk, aren’t you?”

Not dwelling in her obvious sarcasm, he grinned, ecstatic, “Not at all! Thank you for noticing. You look stunning, by the way,” he added, stepping back from her to examine her from head to toe. 

She blushed to the roots of her hair, and Killian had to mask his sudden desire to laugh by coughing into his fist. “Why, thank you,” she told Victor. As soon as he fled to talk to Ruby once more - who kept discussing August's book with him in a combination of squeals and gasps, - Emma finally let herself acknowledge he was there, biting her lip worriedly and sighing before caving in. She walked in slow steps, meeting his eyes with hers, until she came to stand in front of him. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He tilted his head to the side, inspecting her closely and trying to control his voice, not daring to betray the complete panic he could feel about to consume him. “What are you doing here?”

If it was possible, her blush spread even more. “That’s a warm welcome,” she murmured, staring down at the heels strapped to her feet. He recalled how she had hated those things when they had visited that club so long ago, and the nostalgia filled his senses for a moment, the easiness of it all and how everything had changed in the course of two years.

Snapping back his attention to the girl standing in front of him, he frowned, confused. What was she really doing here? “You know what I mean. I thought you wanted to avoid me until the end of time.”

Tearing her gaze from him, she turned to stare at their friends, who had been joined by Philip and Aurora and now discussed something apparently really funny, as they were all in stitches and had even gotten the attention of some of the other attendants. “That was the plan. In fact, I had no alibi to try to get out of this. Ruby kind of forced me. You know how she is,” she explained, a soft smile on her lips as she talked about her friend. 

“I remember, yeah,” he said, too many evenings spent along with Ruby using every trick she knew to try to convince her to do whatever it was she wanted from her. He let his gaze rake her body from head to toe, taking in the dark dress, the thin straps, the braid, the pale skin exposed to his hungry eyes. “Victor is right, you know. You look stunning.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d swear even her hair was turning redder by the second, and he felt a sudden surge of pride for making her flush by complimenting her. It was difficult - or damn near impossible - to get Emma to show any reaction to words thrown her way, as she’d always wear those impenetrable walls around her deflecting any chance to make her feel something other than weariness against the world; so this could count like a victory for him. “Don’t let your girlfriend hear you.” She gulped and avoided his gaze, opting to stare back at their group of friends, clutching her flute of champagne so tight he could see her knuckles turning white. 

Time for truth. 

“Don’t have any girlfriend to hear anything,” he declared offhandedly. 

She nearly sputtered her champagne, awkwardly hiding her mouth behind her hand, only wide green eyes visible behind it staring up at him in utter shock. “What?”

Killian sighed. _There we go._ “Milah and I broke up quite a long time ago.”

There was an awkward pause, and he battled with himself between observing her reaction to the news or staring ahead of him until she decided to talk again. He opted to drink from his glass, ignoring her for a moment and replaying in his head that day when Milah and he had decided it was time to quit forcing their relationship further. Emma’s voice brought him out of his reverie not long later. “Please tell me it wasn’t because...”

He stopped her, a hand coming up between them to halt her from further continuing with her train of thought. “No, it wasn’t that.”

Silence engulfed them for a moment, until her soft voice came up once again, a wondering and curious tone lacing her words. “Then what?”

He sighed, attempting not to sound so uncomfortable as he felt with what he was about to say. He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, bringing himself back to a rational state of mind before he addressed her once more. “We realized we were holding onto something that had been gone for a long time. We were no longer the young couple who had fallen for each other. So we decided it was time to let go,” he finally said gently, memories of Milah’s tearful gaze sending a pang of sadness through him.

“I am so sorry,” she declared in the same morose tone everybody had seemed to use when they had found out he had ended his relationship with his former girlfriend. 

He shrugged lightly, sipping from his glass. “Don’t be. We are still close, and check up on each other frequently. She’s happy.”

They used to call each other every now and then, and even if sometimes it left him feeling lost and unsure of what they had missed after they had broken up, he knew that they had done the right thing. Milah informed him about her plans for her future, her dreams, her travels, and he heard a passion and a fire in her voice that hadn’t been in there for years. Maybe it had been him who had put out that fire, and that saddened him; so knowing that she had rekindled it after their separation reassured him of his decision. 

And the tiny hope that he had spied that same fire in Emma’s eyes when they had been together gave him strength to move forwards.

“And you?” Her sudden inquiry snapped him back to the conversation a hands, and he found Emma’s gaze locked intently on his.

“Me what?”

“Are you happy?”

He didn’t miss a beat, his expression open and willing so she’d read him with no problem. “No.”

“Why?”

“Are you?” He fired back, knowing how it was entirely possible that she’d stomp on her feet and whine about how he only seemed to answer her questions with questions. But she didn’t; she was silent for several moments, processing his words, and he waited on baited breath for her to finally respond him. “...No.”

“How long have you _not_ been happy?”

She chuckled humorlessly, sending him an incredulous look. “Do you really want me to answer that? Because we could start listing my life low moments and we’d never end.”

He pursed his lips for a moment, thinking of the best way to get her to share what he wanted to know. “Let me rephrase it. When was the last time you felt _truly_ happy?”

Rising her eyes to meet his, she pointed a threatening finger at him, her voice turning cold and menacing. “I know what you are doing. You are trying to trick me into telling you how I’ve been yearning for you since that day, to lure me in.”

She was too smart for her own good. 

He closed the gap between them, coming to stand right in front of her as he had done only a handful of times since they had met - and both of those times had been charged moments, full of passion and feelings, declarations made and hearts beating and left broken. Hopefully this time those same hearts would start to mend. With any luck, together. “I’m not tricking you, I want you to admit it. The truth you’ve been denying yourself since it happened.” He hesitated then, words seemingly leaving him at that point, until a sudden wave of emotion and rage of what they had been through brought him back to focus - and regained his speech once more, emotion spilling from every word he uttered. “You know, I resented you for so long after you left. But after what happened with Milah? I was _relieved_. I realized it was the best we could have done if there was any chance for us to work out. If I had pursued you then, you’d have been broken, and I’d have been tormented for what I’d done and we’d both resent each other. But now?”

Her voice came out in barely above a whisper. “Now what?”

“I know how I feel. I’ve made my peace with what we did - with what _I_ did, selfishly, kissing you. Making love to you, when I shouldn’t have, even if it was all I could think and breathe and just plain _needed_. I know where I stand now. I know what I feel for you. I know it’s not something fleeting, something childish and brief. It wasn’t just lust. I fell for you, _hard_ , even without me noticing I was. And it hasn’t stopped since you left. So yeah, I’ll probably wait for whatever it is you need to reconsider or solve in that blonde head of yours until you see that I am not just another guy in your life, Emma Swan. I am _the_ man for you. I am the _one_. I am yours, just as much as you are mine.”

He knew he had let this all drop over her shoulders and she’d be completely overwhelmed, and he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t have an answer or freaked out or something like that. After all, they hadn’t seen each other in a very long time, they both had moved on from what had happened, - as much as you can move on after accepting you love that person, - they both had changed. She raised hesitant eyes towards him, hands clasping around her arms as she hugged herself, careful not to spill her flute as she did. “Jones, I...”

He shook his head, letting her know she shouldn’t have to give him an answer then. It wouldn’t be fair of him to ask her that. “Now, I won’t bugger you anymore tonight about this. We’ll drink, we’ll be happy for August, we’ll pretend we’re having a nice chit-chat.” He paused for a moment, cocking his head to the side as a sudden thought occurred to him. “Or _actually_ chit-chat, because I want to know all that’s been going on in your life this whole time. But after this?” He stared right back at her, not giving her a chance to escape the intensity of his gaze as he tried to make her understand that he meant it, meant every word. “I want you to promise me you’ll think about it. And when you’re ready, you know where to find me.” He stepped back, taking in her astounded expression. “Promise?”

A heartbeat, two, three. He didn’t bother to keep count as they continued to hold each other’s stares, mutually assessing the other, looking for whatever it was they needed, they craved from the other. Lastly, she nodded imperceptibly. “Okay.”

He had to breath slowly through his nose to try to calm the sudden pick up of his heart when she complied his wishes. He made an effort to ignore the sudden urge to wrap his arms around her and spin her around, kiss her, never let go of her - but it was too soon. Not yet. Not until she was on the same page as him. Not until she was ready to open up and let him in, even after what they’d been through. If he didn’t wait for her, this would all be for nothing. 

He gave her an impish grin, lowering his voice as he dipped his head towards her. “You have to say ‘I promise’. It’s like you had no childhood.”

She made a face at him, and the sudden wave of memories of bad jokes thrown her way when they used to spend time together at her former apartment hit him like a brick of tones - though this time, it didn’t leave him hurting for a loss or grief, but with the possibility of hope in a future. Rolling her eyes at him, even if the corner of her lip threatened to curl into a tiny smile, she declared, “I promise.”

He raised his glass, clinking it with hers, a promise to the future. “That’s a good girl.”

 

**(.)**

 

“Coming,” he called as he padded through his apartment towards the front door, the doorbell ringing incessantly making him nearly wince. When it didn’t stop, sounding even louder now and in shorter intervals of time, he repeated, annoyed, “Coming! Jesus.” He finally got there, and after a quick fiddle with the locks, he opened it, ready to lash out at whomever had dared to interrupt him in such a rude fashion.

What he found instead, he hadn’t been ready for. “Swan? You’re drenched.”

A completely head-to-toe wet Emma Swan stood in his threshold, lumps of golden hair sticking to her face and neck, boots making a squeaking noise as she moved imperceptibly towards him. “I know. But I needed to see you.”

He cocked an eyebrow, completely taken aback at the turn of events. “And you couldn’t call?”

She shook her head, droplets of water hitting him as she did. Great, she was like a dog. He was about to tell her so in an attempt to lighten the sudden tension at the moment, when, in a breathless tone, she answered, “No, I couldn’t wait.”

“What...” any chance of responding was soon forgotten as she suddenly pressed her lips to his, pulling him into a fervent kiss. His head started buzzing and his veins filled with a consuming heat, his arms coming around her as hers looped around is neck. Her taste on his tongue filled his senses and sent a warm feeling of recognition, of longing, through him.

Like coming home.

They parted from each other gasping for air, completely breathless, but he didn’t let go of her, not daring to let her escape him again. She tipped her forehead against his, speaking so fast her words blurred together, like they were too drenched in the rain along with her hair and her clothes and it made it impossible for him to read them. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For everything. I’m sorry for disappearing. I’m sorry for not picking up any of your calls or answering your texts. If you only knew how hard it was trying to forget you...”

He could feel the pain behind her words, and he brushed his nose against hers, ghosting a kiss over her lips. Leisurely, hungrily wishing for the moment where he’d be able to reassure her that it was okay. That now they were together. That they would make it work, no matter what. “Hey. I know. I understand why you did it. But now you’re here.”

One of her hands let go of his hair and came up to trace his cheek, the scar beside his nose, the light scruff he failed to shave. “After the other night, I kept thinking this was a mistake. That if we had started it back then like a mistake, it’d only become a bigger one. But then I realized it didn’t start there. It started way earlier, and that day was just... the breaking point. And we are not the same people that we were then. I know I am not, and from what you told me, you are not either.” She shook her head, her eyes lingering on his face like she was afraid she’d forget something vital about it to bring with her when she left. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and he found himself matching it immediately. “Either way, it’s like maths, right? We are both fucked up. We found each other in a really fucked up situation. We are both like a minus sign - and it becomes a plus when they are multiplied.”

The feather-light touch of her fingers sent tingles up the back of his neck, yet all he could think about right then was how she could use such an inventive metaphor to describe them - and how her smile made his heart ache. He lived for those smiles of hers, he was sure now of how his sole purpose in life would always be to make sure she never stopped smiling. How could such a thing hold so much power? He was convinced it was magical.

Just like her.

“Shouldn’t my minus and your minus be added? Because I’m pretty sure that becomes another minus,” he wondered aloud, laughing at how her expression seemed to drop for a moment until she realized he was messing with her.

She shrugged in a way that he could only describe as adorable, a full on grin now lighting up her face as she looked up at him. “Well, then we are an even bigger fucked up mess.”Her expression turned serious then, and a look of fierce determination replaced her former giddiness. “I am willing to try to tame it.”

He couldn’t help himself, he bent down to claim her lips with his once more, relishing in the way she instantly matched the frenzied pace of his nips and strokes of his tongue, thought of fighting him long forgotten behind them. The kiss then turned tender and soft, light as a whisper, and he finally managed to find the will to pull back from her, forehead resting against the top of her head as he exhaled loudly, attempting to catch his breath. 

“I missed you,” she murmured, nuzzling his neck as he tangled his fingers in her hair, not caring at all for the wet tresses leaving a trail of water in its wake. 

He smiled at her confession, and soon found himself pressing a soft kiss against the tip of her nose, closely followed by another on her cheek, her forehead, the corner of her lips, and finally reaching home. “I missed you too,” he whispered against them. Pulling back slightly from her, he ushered her inside, tugging on her hand and motioning for her to follow him, closing to door behind them. “Come in, I have something you can change into. And candy,” he added with a playful wink over his shoulder. 

“You had me at candy.” She laughed then, the sound tickling and magical bringing him back memories of how in Peter Pan they claimed that the first laugh of the first baby meant the beginning of the fairies. Well, he would fight anyone who denied that every time Emma Swan laughed, a fairy was born somewhere.

 


	3. trouble sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> epilogue two

Killian kept muttering under his breath as he passed aisle after aisle, eyes scanning each one of them briefly and keeping a fast pace, wishing they were all done and able to get back home in time for the game. “Where in hell have you disappeared off to... ow!” He pulled back from whoever he had nearly trampled in his haste, and his arms shot out to balance him.

...or _her_ , as he realized when she pulled back her hand from her forehead, rubbing against it with a wince and swatting blonde curls tiredly. That would probably bruise. Apparently she hadn’t been looking where she was going either, and he was completely taken aback when she shot an apologetic glance in his direction and started spouting apologies. “Fuck! I mean, sorry I’m so sorry, I wasn’t really looking where I was going...”

Eyes a startling shade of green, a sea where he had gladly drowned in once upon a time. 

Eyes he thought he’d never see again.

Never is an awfully long time, or so they say.

“...Emma? Is that you?” His voice came out ragged and breathless, the notion that it was really her, - _Emma_ , standing right in front of him, - still escaping him. 

She froze, eyes never wavering from his as her lips parted in astonishment. She was as shocked to see him as he was from suddenly coming to terms that she was there.“...Killian Jones?”

His arms had enveloped her against him without him even noticing, his nose inhaling that scent he thought he had forgotten after being deprived of it for so long and had believed that had been long forgotten. Just a tiny sniff and he felt drunk on memories, sensations and suppressed feelings, the intensity of all of it nearly making him stumble on his feet. He didn’t, of course, as she was being his anchor, firm and warm and smelling heavenly in the circle of his arms, and he couldn’t help himself from muttering against her hair, “I can’t believe it’s you.”

She stiffened, her hands coming up from her sides to push against his chest weakly, and he dropped his arms from her form, leaving some space between them. “Yeah, it’s me, I assure you.”

He shook his head, still amazed. “No, I meant, it’s been... so many years.”

“I know.”

“But I haven’t seen you or heard from you since back then.”

“I moved to Boston, actually,” she explained, shrugging. 

“Oh. I didn’t know,” he lamely replied. Of fucking course he hadn’t known, if he had he would have tried to get a hold of her, at least to find out if she was okay, if she was even alive. 

She shot him a smile - a cold, all-teeth-displayed smile, that made his heart clench and stare at her warily. That was not the smile he knew, not the warm smile that Emma would send over her shoulder as she waved you goodbye, sending tingles through your body.“That was the plan.”

“I tried to call you,” he confessed, eyeing her and trying to gauge her reaction. She stiffened imperceptibly, and he would swear he saw something akin to shock pass over her eyes, but she quickly adopted a polite, tight-lipped smile - something so out of character from Emma, he was rendered speechless for a moment.

“What for?”

He faltered, her blasé comment - as if it hand’t mattered to her, as if she hadn’t left them, moved out and all but disappeared from their lives, not a single call, not a text, anything, - hurting more than he cared to admit, even if it had been nearly ten years since it had all gone down. “I - I don’t know. I told you I didn’t want to lose you, and not just... _that_ , but as a friend. Yet you didn’t even give it a try.”

“I did what I thought was best,” she declared, crossing her arms across her chest, hugging her arms protectively. He cocked an eyebrow, noticing her posture, now rigid and defensive, and he remembered how she had always built that fortress against the world, always ready for an attack, an enemy, as if everybody would go out of their way to hurt her.

He understood why she did, why she had always done it, but it saddened him to realize she hadn’t changed that much in all this time.

Either way, the fact that it looked like she had all but abandoned them and had done everything to keep everybody in the dark about her whereabouts and her life bugged him, and he couldn’t stop himself from telling her, “You always do. Regardless what the rest may feel.”

As soon as he said it, he realized that may not have been the smartest thing to argue in that moment.

A frown touched her lips, and something dark flashed in her eyes - though it was gone as fast as it had appeared. Passing a slightly trembling hand over her locks, she sighed tiredly, not meeting his gaze. “Look, I’m kind of busy, so if you want to be petty about something that happened a decade ago, I’ll pass, sorry.”

_That_ made him forget about his earlier remorse concerning his biting remark. He moved without even noticing it, her seemingly indifferent attitude towards something that had affected him so much, kept him awake long nights and given him nightmares in the past enraging him like anything had done in years. He came to stand inches from her, hearing her sharp inhale of breath, and he couldn’t help the bite in his words as he accused her. “You call this being petty? You broke my _heart_.”

She didn’t budge from her spot, arms bracing herself even tighter than earlier, her nails scratching the pale skin. Her face betrayed her unresponsive stance, though, as her eyes kept wandering around themselves frantically and her voice dropped moderately. “Do you really think this is the best place to discuss this?”

“Well, I’m sure after this encounter you’ll go back running back to your hole and not come out for another decade, so yeah, I’m peachy discussing this now.”

He knew he was being a complete arse, but he just couldn’t stop himself. This girl had shown up in a time of his life, had completely messed it up, making him question anything and everything in it, and then left, not giving him a chance to even realize he _did_ indeed love her. He had always known, yet at the time, he had been too scared, too confused, too stupid to come to terms with the fact that, even if he did love Milah, a part of him belonged to Emma.

Always had, and had never forgotten about it, about her. Their time together. 

And now she was here, and when he was so desperate for answers, for anything, drinking in her presence, - a blonde ghost of his past who had suddenly reappeared into his life, - she was clearly dismissing him, like he was nothing, like he had meant nothing for her, when the last time they had seen each other they had all but confessed otherwise. Of course he noticed her unease, and he couldn’t blame her for that - he was a mess of nerves too, of course he was! - but he just didn’t know how to act around her after all they had been trough. In fact, he was sure he had never known how to act around her, period. And that was one of the things that had entranced him about her since they had run into each other at Milah and her apartment all that time ago. 

Her body tensing uncomfortably, she huffed and tried to walk past him hastily. “I’m out of here.”

Oh. Hell. No. She was not escaping again, not now, not when he had finally found her. 

He spun around in time to grab her arm, stepping back with her to stare down into those haunted eyes, his voice begging and remorseful. “Hey. I know why you did what you did, but at least - could we please act civil, I don’t know, maybe have a coffee one day and talk?”

“Are you fucking daring to ask me on a _date_?” she nearly screeched, eyebrows flying up to her hair line.

Was he? “What? No! I just - I’d like to... I don’t know. I just wanna talk.”

She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose in distress. “Jones, I...”

“I promise it wouldn’t be a date,” he tried to reassure her, but her narrowed eyes took him by surprise. 

“Yeah. Because you are _married_.”

His head snapped up at her words. “How do you know that?”

She jerked her chin in his hand’s direction, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You wear a ring, for starters.”

Oh. That. He had nearly forgotten. 

Perceptive, she was. Always had been. 

“Right,” he finally acknowledged sheepishly, rubbing his thumb against the gold band around his finger, its smooth and cold surface sending a shiver up his spine - or was it thefact that both he and Emma were discussing him wearing a wedding ring?

He would bet on the former. 

He cleared his throat, shaking his head and attempting to look collected. _Focus, Killian. Focus. Don’t stray from your goal. Get her to accept so you two can talk. Alone._ “So. Coffee...”

“Emma?”

He swore under his breath when a soft voice came up from his left, rapidly coming to stand beside him. Emma’s face wavered from slight panic to recognition and finally settled in a soft nostalgic expression. “Hey, Milah.”

Milah closed the gap between them, hugging her tightly, cart full of groceries all but forgotten behind them as shocked and delighted words fell from her lips, pulling back from her former roommate, arms still gripping hers so she could examine her. “Oh my God. I can’t believe it’s you. It’s like seeing a ghost.” She fingered the blond curls, tugging on them playfully and smiling brightly. “You look fantastic, look at your hair!”

Killian observed how Emma’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red - bringing back buried memories that he had hardly tried to repress for years of her, flushed against his body, completely enraptured and appearing nearly ethereal in the throes of passion, an avenging angel in his arms as he made her come. “You aren’t looking so bad yourself,” she told her, smirking.

His wife stepped back and leaned her head against his shoulder, grinning wickedly up at him and winking. “What can I say - he doesn’t complain, no need to worry about being alone!” She abruptly halted her giggling, a horrified glint in her eyes as she looked back at Emma, who had winced minimally, probably hoping they wouldn’t notice. A hand came up to cover her lips, rapidly trying to excuse herself. “I didn’t mean...”

Emma’s face was closed off, nothing to read in her features and her voice never wavering as she stared them down and hastily replied, “Don’t worry about it.” Sighing and gripping her purse in her hand tightly, he saw how the imminent escape number by Emma Swan started right in front of his eyes, her feet already moving to put as much distance as she could between them. “Anyway, I should probably go, I need to find...”

“Mom!”

A young boy with a disheveled mop of brown silky hair, pale skin and hazel eyes showed up at Emma’s side, making her jump and clutch a hand against her chest, startled. Recovering at record speed, her arm went out to grip the boy’s shoulder and crash him against her, her features revealing the smallest hint of panic and fear for a second. “God, kid. You scared me, I thought I had lost you.” She smoothed her features, most assuredly not comfortable with the audience witnessing the scene, and her grip slackening and leaving some space between them, examining him in perusal of any treat from the store in his hands, he guessed. “You ready to leave?”

He felt himself growing speechless once more. This was Emma’s son. Her son. She had a son. She had a family, she had found someone to love her, to let him past that armor she wore every day. Someone had given her peace, had given her a child, the chance to care for someone in a way only parents understood. 

“You have a son?” he finally uttered, astonished, still not able to believe it. 

And why the fuck wouldn’t she? Why _couldn’t_ she? If someone in this life deserved to be loved, protected and cared for, that should be Emma. She had been through so much, so much pain and heartbreak; he should be elated that she had managed to find what she had always craved for: a family, something to fight for - and willing to fight for her. 

Yet he couldn’t help but feel regret for not being him who had given it all to her. 

Guess he had let that chance go a long time ago.

Putting her hands over her son’s shoulders and pushing him in the opposite direction so he’d take the hint - really smooth, Swan, as always, - she distractedly commented, “Uh-huh. Well, guys, this has been great but we have to go now. Plenty of stuff to do.” She was already waving at them and turning to leave when another small body ushered his way past between their petit comité, running and waving his arm frantically, gasping loudly in his haste to reach his destination. “Hey, Henry! You forgot your book!”

Emma’s son swiveled around, letting out a loud sigh of relief and taking the book in his hands, clutching it tightly against his chest. “Thank you! Mom, this is Bae,” he explained, pointing at the grinning boy beside him. 

Milah chortled, amused, rising her eyebrows as she stared at the two boys with a fond smile. “Well, look at that. They found each other without us making introductions.”

Emma stood, rooted to the spot, eyes going from one boy to another, not meeting Killian’s gaze as she inspected his son with a haunted expression. After what felt like an eternity, she uttered, voice strained, “...this is your son.”

Before he or Milah could respond, Henry interrupted, confusion etching his features while he studied his mother’s face and promptly turned to examine Killian in return. “You know each other?”

Milah smiled, grabbing Killian’s arm and pointing at Emma with her free hand. “We used to be roommates a long time ago.”

Both kids let out a gasp of surprise, and Killian, even though still worried about Emma’s display at the disclosure of him being a father, felt his lips twitching at their awed faces. Henry bounced on his feet, turning to Bae. “That’s so cool! Is this your father?” He examined Killian then, excitement clear in his eyes as he rushed out words without preamble. “He has told me all about you.”

Killian rose an eyebrow, curious. “Has he now.”

“Yes! How you take him sailing. That’s so cool,” he explained grinning, a dreamy glint in his eye, and Killian laughed, amusedly recalling how Bae had been wary of the boat he had acquired years ago and had taken him along to teach him how to sail. 

Binging back his attention to the boy anxiously standing in front of him, he passed a hand over his curls fondly, chuckling. “Well, make sure to tell your father to take you too.”

“My father died before I was born, I never actually met him.”

He was just as blasé as his mother had been earlier, and Killian managed not to appear as surprised as he felt. Fuck. Did he always have to say whatever it was to trigger every bad memory that probably haunted Emma? Knowing that there was apparently no husband, no man in Emma’s life didn’t give him any kind of satisfaction: instead, the knowledge that she had raised Henry on her own pained him, fearing that she had been alone through it all. He peered at her, still appalled and contrite. “Emma... I’m so...”

“Don’t,” she dismissed him, raising a hand and shaking her head at him, clearly not desiring on further talking about it. He wasn’t about to press her, either, but he complied, nodding imperceptibly. “Henry, I think it’s time to go now,” she told her son, her tone soft and affectionate. He was transfixed as he observed her interacting with the boy, who only looked up at her, eyes wide and wondering, until he seemed to find something in her mother’s features, and he sighed and slumped his shoulders lightly. “Okay.” He stepped back towards Bae and Milah, politely nodding and extending his hand. “It was nice meeting you. Maybe we’ll see each other around sometime?”

While Bae and him briefly exchanged where they both went to school and the places they usually frequented, Milah propping herself on one knee to pipe in and surely ask Henry to join them whenever he wanted - she did seem enamored with the kid already, after assuring Emma _“He’s a sweetheart, you must be proud of him”,_ Killian inched closer to the blonde mother beside him. Emma gazed up at him, a fleeting smile curling her lips as she made a motion with her head in his son’s direction, still talking animatedly with his wife and Henry. “He has your hair.”

“You mean perfect hair?” 

She rolled her eyes, but something raw and wild fluttered in his chest when the smile on her lips stayed put. “Exactly.”

He followed her gaze, and cocked his head to the side as he studied her son intently. He was her spitting image, despite him being openly grinning throughout his whole interaction with his family - not something you’d expect from his mother, that Killian knew for sure. Getting Emma to smile for such a long time would surely exhaust anyone who dared to try. “Yours has your eyes. And your freckles.”

A mixture of appreciation, fondness, despair and pain crossed her features, and he could swear her eyes shined a little too bright while she stared at her son, her finger touching briefly her lips unconsciously. “Yeah. But his smile is his father’s,” she murmured. Shaking her head and not meeting his eyes, even as she knew he was examining her intently, she said, “I gotta go now.”

Of course she would want to run after that display of vulnerability. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and assure her it was okay, that she was more than welcome to rant, cry, or just - _be_. She didn’t have to put up a front before him, never had and never will. Though he knew she wouldn’t be on the same page as him on that topic, but well, she had always been a tough lass. Scratching his hair, he fixed her with a sheepish grin. “About that coffee...”

She groaned, voice tinged with exasperation and fatigue, like she was completely done with the conversation. Even with him. “I don’t even like coffee, remember?”

“Please, Emma,” he implored, voice dropping when he noticed Milah, Bae and Henry hug each other and exchange farewells between them. Emma’s eyes squeezed shut, shaking her head, and he couldn’t help but ghost his fingers over hers, the touch electric, sending sparks through him. 

So close, and yet so far. 

At the contact, she jolted, moving away from him like he had burned her. Maybe he had, just as she did to him. She had branded him; that day, that year they had spent getting to know each other, learning what made the other tickle, their fears and dreams, when he had found the way to climb those walls of hers without her consent. 

It would have been delightful to say that she accepted, that she gave him the smallest of nods, that she had sent one of those tiny smiles she so rarely graced to anybody. Alas, she plainly ignored him, taking Henry’s hand in his and smiling down at Bae before throwing a soft “Bye, guys” before leaving, a bouncing Henry following her every step as he rabbited on and on excitedly while their silhouettes shrank in the distance, blond tresses billowing on the right and arms waving animatedly on the left. 

The broken family he would give anything to meet again. 

_To be a part of_ , a wicked, treacherous, small voice inside of him whispered, and he fought the shiver running down his spine at the thought.

“That was unexpected,” Milah commented, her head cocked to the side as she joined him, still staring at mother and son’s backs in the distance. Composing himself, he hummed his agreement, hands going instantly to grip his young son’s shoulders, who was examining dazedly a curious leather-bound book - apparently, the one that Henry had forgotten at first. “It really was. Hey Bae, how did you get to talking with young Henry?”

Momentarily ignoring the book in his hands, his son sent him a dazzling grin, clearly happy with his new acquaintance with Emma’s boy. “We met in the book section! And he’s not young, he’s older than me!”

Killian chuckled. Kids - always willing to state how ‘big boys’ they were. He’d have to remind him once he became old enough to wish he had stayed a young boy and fly off to Neverland. “It’s an expression. And is he?”

“Yep. He’s 10, and I’m 8,” Bae explained, scrunching up his nose and seemingly uninterested in the conversation once more, his attention caught by the book his new friend had lent him. Milah raked her fingers through his hair tenderly as they made their way through another of the aisles, distractedly picking up items from the shelves and putting them inside their cart. “Poor Emma. It must have been so hard raising that baby on her own.”

Killian clenched his teeth, earlier musings about that possibility and the realization that she had, indeed, been alone through all of it hitting him hard and knocking him nearly breathless. Why hadn’t she said anything? Hadn’t anybody been there for her? He guessed her friends had been, right? Somebody must have helped her. He _had_ to believe that had been the case.

“Yeah. But she was out of town, we didn’t even know.”

His wife nodded slowly, a sad frown pulling at her lips, deep in thought. “Right. And it must have been not long after moving out, if the boy is 10. She could have told us or something, I thought we were close, you know?”

He sometimes forgot that Milah had also suffered from Emma’s sudden decision to leave - the two had been close, they had become good friends. Even if Emma hadn’t let herself completely bare, so to speak, to her, he knew she had valued Milah’s friendship and overall affectionate and protective attitude towards her since she had moved in with her. Another thing to kick himself for: ruining and separating a blossoming friendship, especially for Emma, who found it so hard to find people who felt that way about her. 

A sudden desire to care for her and stay for her.

And, out of the blue, Milah’s earlier words rang in his ears. 

_...it must have been not long after moving out, if the boy is 10._

Ten years. He was ten years old. Henry.

The last time he had seen Emma had been ten years ago.

Henry had said his father had died before he was born. 

No. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t. She had said something if that had been the case...

_But his smile is his father’s._

Oh God.

“But now she’s back. We should organize a little get-together for the gang, right? It’d be fun to see each other again, it’s been so long,” Milah’s voice kept ringing in his ears, new ideas, new lines, new words blurring together, mixing everything, completely indecipherable in the mess that was now his head. Images of Henry’s impish grin, his features, Emma’s tearful gaze, her shock at running into him of all people, her expression when she had seen Bae and Henry together...Blood boiling, brain shutting down, feelings swarming inside of him, chasing each other in a competition to see which one of them would overwhelm him first: loss, hope, joy, confusion, rage, disappointment.

_Love...?_

“...yeah, sure,” he managed to mutter, feeling completely lost in that damned aisle, as alone and lost as he had ever felt in his life, completely helpless,while his wife and his son, - his _family_ , - kept bickering back and forth about what brand of cereal they should buy. 

 

Unbeknownst to him, not far from there, in the parking lot, a worried Henry kept trying to get some answers from his mother, who as soon as they got in the yellow bug she had owned for years, started breathing in ragged gasps, tears streaming down her face uncontrollably, trying to reassure her son that everything was fine.

She would never admit that they had just run into his father.

 

(.)

 

“How the hell did you find my apartment?” she snapped as soon as she opened her front door, eyes blazing in fury while he stood there awkwardly, letting his head fall back in exasperation and doing everything in his power not to throttle her right there. _Such an impossible woman._ No wonder he had ended up falling for her - the only way he could come up with to possibly shut her up would be by kissing her. Managing to muster every ounce of his patience, he nearly growled back at her “Could you please for once indulge me and come back down to have a cup of anything to talk?”

She peered at him for what felt like forever, searching for something he would never know in his face, but to his utmost surprise and relief, she conceded, going back into her apartment, taking her coat in her hand and grabbing her purse and keys in the other, locking her door behind her as she joined him descending the stairs. They settled on a little café not far from her building which he had never even known existed, but she assured him it was quite nice, and not long later both of them were sitting in front of each other, holding steaming cups between them and exchanging polite small conversation: about their jobs, about Ruby, Mary Margaret and David, about his family, about his former roommates and their band. 

Silence descended upon them once more, and Emma propped her chin in her hand, diverting his attention back to her. With her head tilted at that angle, the morning light streaming in the café window lit up her hair, making it a halo of gold-crested curls. He had forgotten how her hair captured the morning sun that way, those lazy days spent at her apartment while they shared breakfast and read each other their horoscope from the newspaper to laugh at their impending fates. Or maybe he had tried to forget it. With a shiver, he looked away, draining the rest of his coffee in one gulp. She turned her gaze back at him, and arched an eyebrow. “You’re trembling.”

_Fuck._ Caffeine hadn’t been such a good idea for this conversation he intended to have. “I’m not.”

“You are,” she insisted, studying him with hooded eyes. He tried to smooth his features carefully into a blank mask, but she had always been able to read him- as much as he had with her. Something appeared to click inside of her, he could nearly hear the change in her posture, spine straightening and her features pinching in distress, lips parted in what appeared to be a silent scream. “You _know_.”

_Poker face, Killian. It is not the time yet._ “I know what?”

It didn’t work. Chair scrapping against the floor loudly as she got up hurriedly, picking up her purse and her keys, she declared hotly, “I’m leaving.” What she didn’t appear to count with was that he had predicted her move, and he was already taking her arm in his. Why did they always end up like this? Him tugging at her hand and pleading with her not to let go when she tried to fly away like the scared, haunted swan she was?

It appeared like _that_ was their fate. Her running from him, him trying to stop her from doing it. Stupid horoscope could have given them a tip about that, after all. 

“Oh no. You are doing anything except _that_ ,” he promised her, voice coming out in a snarl as he pushed her to sit back again, this time at his side so he would be able to chase her down just in case she decided to flee. “How would you feel if you suddenly found out you have had a son for the last ten years and you’ve been deprived of his presence - or the knowledge of his existence?,” he glowered darkly, his fingers still holding her wrist.

One eyebrow quirked upwards, her eyes met his in a defiant stare. The indifferent and cold act was back in place, the ice queen role she managed to play whenever she felt threatened not breaking when she retorted back. “Well, considering his existence would have broken your perfect poster family, I prefer to think I was doing you a favor.”

Of course she would think she was doing the right thing. The honorable thing, like she was the fucking savior or something. Like he needed saving. Didn’t she understand all he may had wanted was to stay by her side?

He inched closer to her, her breath burning his skin when he did, noses nearly brushing as he stared her down menacingly. “You had _no right_ to do this to me.”

She appeared completely unaffected by him - well, not exactly. Her eyes had started filling with something he had been familiar with more times he cared to remember when it came to exchanges with the blond girl - _rage_. “What would have you done, Killian? You love Milah, and you were not going to leave her, not for me, anyway - would you have suddenly changed your mind after you learned that you got me pregnant?”

The fact that she made it sound like it had been his fault only helped to fuel his frustration. God, if only she knew how long he had been questioning what he should do after she left, why couldn’t she have just told him? Why had she disappeared?Exhaling heavily, his breath moving strands of her hair out of her face, he bared his teeth at her as he uttered against clenched teeth, “You have _no_ idea what I would have done, you didn’t give me a chance to think about it, you just left. You left me.”

She jolted in her seat, turning accusing eyes in his direction, her hair whipping against his face at the motion. With a warning glare in her eyes and a tight lipped frown pulling at her features, she all but spat at him. “No. I left before _you_ left _me_. I was not about to be abandoned again.” Propping her elbows against the smooth surface of the table in front of them, she let her head fall against her palms, voice coming out muffled between her fingers laced with anguish. “I knew I shouldn’t have come back here. It’s like fate wants to screw me over time after time.”

Something gnawed in his gut at her words, making him flinch. He didn’t know what to say anymore. Since the day she had left, he had wondered if he was doing the right thing - but, after weeks, months, years passed and not a word was heard about her, he guessed she had found out that she was finally better without him in her life. It was easy to pretend it was her fault for not giving him even a chance, but now that he knew the truth, he couldn’t keep with the pretense that it made it okay. She had suffered, if not the same, much more than him. 

Hell, who was he kidding, she had been through so much more than him. He had been surrounded by people he loved, he had started a family. He had become a father, the apprehension and fear of being someone else’s role model and taking responsability of such a small, fragile life not managing to overwhelm him - because it had been shared along with his wife. Emma hadn’t had that. 

Because she hadn’t told him. 

“Were you ever going to tell me?,” he whispered, closing his eyes and dreading her answer.

It came either way, even if he wanted it or not. “No.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together, his eyes seeking out her gaze - the green in there turning frantic at the desperation etched to his features, he was sure. His voice came out broken and uneven. “Why not? Emma... I have a son.”

He still couldn’t grasp how a part of him, something inherently his, half of his soul, his heart, his very being, had wandered around this world for years, a _decade_ , and he had been unaware of it. 

 

Emma just squinted her eyes at him, her arms coming to rest across her chest in a protective instance - as if the words about to fall from her lips pained her and she needed to brace herself to utter them. “Yes, you do. His name is Bae. And he is just like you.”

He fought a groan. She was being impossible. As always. “I meant _our_ son. I - what am I supposed to do now? I have a family.” His tone laced with pain and confusion, his eyes begging her to tell him what to do. The right thing to do, for once. He had wronged her so many times already, for once he wanted to know what the hell he should do.

Her soft-spoken statement tore him from his thoughts. “And I have mine.”

“I am your family,” he argued adamantly. 

“You are _not_.”

He felt utterly broken in that moment, rendered shocked at her words. For all purposes, he was the father of her son - but she was right. He was _not_ her family, as much as he longed to. But he couldn’t. Why would he say that either way? She clearly knew where she stood: out of reach of his arms, out of his life.

As it had been for the last ten years. Why was it so difficult to let her go, after all this time?

His hand moved on his own accord, his finger tilting her chin up as he whispered vehemently against her pale face, a small corner of his brain taking note of the light freckles peppering her nose he had admired when they met. “Emma. I haven’t stopped thinking about you, in a corner of my mind since you disappeared, for _ten years_. And now you come back and you have a kid that is mine. A kid who has grown up thinking he has no father at all. And that kills me, knowing that I could have been there for him. For you.”

Emma pulled her head out of his reach and bunched her fingers in the curls cascading against her shoulders, nearly tugging at them and fighting a tiny growl. “It’s no use dwelling in the past. As I said: you go back to your family, and I stay with mine.”

“I want to get to know him.” This was what he had come to tell her. He was not about to let her run away with his son. He deserved to know him, he wanted to - he craved it. He had missed out so much, he didn’t want to be left out anymore - even if he would never know it was him who had fathered him, and not some unknown man whom Emma had claimed to be his dad. 

“No way.”

“You owe me.”

“I owe you _shit_ ,” she glowered darkly, tilting her chin up. 

Killian recalled how this had been what they did best: the back and forth, the fast retorts, the fighting, the keeping up with each other - but this was something completely different, so much more charged, so much more at stake this time. Harsh words, furious glances, stiff postures - Killian would have never imagined they would end up like this. Like a fucking divorced couple bickering and battling for the remains of something that was not there anymore. 

Until one of them brought out the big guns.

“I’ll tell Milah,” he threatened. Her gaze widened, and she leaned forward ever so slightly as she bared her teeth at him, the woman he had so longed for and loved for years now transformed into a predator right before his eyes, a wild lioness with only one mission: protect her cubs.

Her son.

_Their_ son.

“No you won’t.”

Killian’s eyes lingered on hers, no hint of humor in his words or expression. If she could read him like an open book as she had always insisted she did, she would know he was not fucking around. He had come to terms with the situation since he had found out, and he was not about to leave his kid abandoned - he had been for all purposes these past years because he had not known, of course, but he wouldn’t let it happen again. And if it meant telling Milah the truth, he would face the consequences. “If you dare to leave me out of his life once more, I swear to God I will.”

Silence falls between them, the girl with the broken eyes, the boy in the impossible situation. So fucked up, both of them, like pieces in a puzzle destined to cross paths but never to fit together. “Why are you doing this to me?,” she finally managed in the smallest voice he had ever heard escape from her lips - and he had been witness of some of the most desperate, fragile moments that Emma had let him see. 

His body tensed uncomfortably, his fingers twitching in anticipation, irking to grab her and hold her, to make her understand, to make her _see_. “I let you go once. I missed on my chance to be your family, as you’ve said. But please: don’t shut me out now. Let us in. Let Henry and Bae grow up as friends, as close friends. As _brothers_. Let him be around. Let me be close to my son.” He grasped her hand in his, entangling their fingers, and he marveled once more at how right it felt. How could something that felt so good be that wrong? The right kind of wrong? “You heard him the other day, how he wanted a father when he heard about me and Bae sailing. Let him have that, even if he won’t know the truth.”

He observed how she let her eyes fall closed for a moment, inhaling sharply; and suddenlyshe flashed him a glare so intense it nearly scorched him, all charm, sass and coldness vanishing from her gaze. Only her. _Emma_ , completely broken before him. “Do you understand what you’re putting me through by doing this?”

He was rendered speechless for a second. He had thought his idea would be welcomed by her - albeit begrudgingly, as he knew she would never admit it, but why would she feel put out by it? It was beneficial for Henry. It was good for both of them. Hell, it even worked for Bae, who craved for some kind of sibling his age. He stared at her like coming out from some kind of daze. “What?”

She shook her head, ignoring him. Her hands clutched her temples, massaging them tiredly. “I’ll think about it. Time’s up. I’m out.”

This was not what he had expected. She was mad, - he had expected as much when she found out he knew about Henry, but God, he didn’t want her to _hate_ him. And that seemed to be the case, or that was what appeared to be at least. Why did she, anyway? He was offering her the chance that she had been denied for years, a _family_ ; he thought she would be more that ready to accept, even thrilled at the prospect.

And here was the reason why he guessed he’d never get to fully understand Emma Swan, the biggest enigma he would ever encounter in his life. 

“Emma, this is good, I...,” he tried to appease her, his fingers already moving towards her to comfort her in any way he could, but she jerked back, as if they would somehow bite her, and she slapped them away from her. Those sea eyes of hers now blazing, a storm raging inside of them, her lips thinned and braced herself against him. “No. I said I’ll think about it, and that’s it. You played the ‘you owe me’ card and the fact that I can’t refuse my kid fucking anything because he’s _everything_ to me, the only good thing that has ever happened in my life. And I’m willing to risk my happiness for his. But don’t you fucking dare to even imply I should be happy about all of this. Because it’s going to be fucking painful, do you understand that? To see you, with your happy ending, and now with _my_ happy ending - my son - in it, while I’m all alone?” Her eyes had teared up during her rant, and she raised a hand to wipe away the wetness in her cheeks impatiently, foregoing her emotional breakdown right in front of him. She settled her hands on the table, shaking her head stubbornly and clenching her eyes shut for a moment before seizing him once more, her lips thinning in a glare. “So no, don’t you dare.”

His face fell as if a candle had been blown out. The fact that she talked about her loneliness so openly, - the pain so raw, so real, it was positively _killing_ him. “Why haven’t you found anybody in all this time?,” he asked.

She opened her mouth like she was going to continue arguing before she snapped it shut in a frustrated huff. She finally seized his eyes with hers. “You don’t deserve an answer to that,” she all but growled back at him, grasping her things once more in her hands and pushing him out of his seat on their booth so she could get out. Once she was on her feet, she took her cup on her hands to throw it away in the trash a coupe of feet away from them, and he hurried up to catch up to her, leaping to his feet and stepping in her direction, honesty and vehemence etched to his every word as he told her, “Emma. You deserve to be loved. To be cherished. To be held. You know that, right?”

He watched as she stopped on her tracks, her lips trembling along with her hands, now curled into fists at her sides. “The only thing I know is that the only person I’ve ever wanted to do that to me, was taken. And I didn’t want to ruin his life.”

 

 

(.)

 

 

Emma opened her door and fixed him with a glare. “I told you I’d think about it, you can’t just pop up in here whenever you feel like it.”

He ignored her, walking inside her apartment without even an invitation. He knew he was being terribly rude, but he couldn’t let this go. He needed to make her understand. “I have been thinking.”

She crossed her arms across her chest, making a face at him. “Good for you. Now, please leave.”

He swiveled around, making his way towards her and grasping her upper arms firmly so she didn’t move away from him. “Listen to me. Please.” He inhaled deeply, trying to organize the words and lines he had been repeating over and over in his head since the last time they had seen each other. “I have played in my mind what could have happened if you had stayed, if I had maybe left Milah after talking to her, if you and me had been together. If you had told me about the baby. And Emma... I have no idea what would have come of us, but I’m sure that in the end, we would have worked things out. I’m certain of it.”

He had sat at night, leaving his bed - his and Milah’s, - to go to the window seat in the living room, running his hand along the worn fabric, staring out the window pane in the dark. Thoughts running, chasing each other. Of what could have been of them. 

How he could have read, sang and caressed her belly as it grew for nine months.

How he could have been holding Emma’s hand when she was giving birth. 

How they could have organized birthday parties for Henry every year, doting on him like crazy.

How he would have cherished her every day, every night, making her feel how much he wanted her and make sure she never forgot it.

All of this, she had missed out. He had missed out with her - he had lived all of those things, with Milah, with Bae. He had spoiled his son rotten, he loved him with every fiber of his being. And now, knowing that he could have been the same towards his other son, that boy that for all purposes was a stranger to him, yet was a half of him. A half of him and Emma. 

He had given into his misery at the thought that she had suffered through all of that on her own. Who had been with her when the time came for Henry to arrive to the world? Who had kissed her tears away? Who had calmed her when he had gotten sick - as all babies did? How had she managed to take care of him, work and be the splendid mother he knew she was? If he had ever doubted that she was one hell of a woman, the strongest, most stubborn and brave he had ever encountered in his life, now was the moment to admit it.

Her whispered words snapped him back to the present. “But...?”

His hands caressed the length of her arms, taking her hands in his and squeezing them tightly. “But now, we can’t,” he murmured, his voice catching in his throat.

He felt her stiffen at his words, but promptly relaxed, and he could swear he saw her mask coming up in that moment, an eyebrow rising in a defiant manner. “Who said I wanted to? I’m not the same girl from then. Nor are you the guy who stole my candy.”

He examined her closely. He just wanted to assure her she needn’t bother with the act, he could read her, he could see what she felt, what she thought. And she was trying to protect herself. The fact that she believed she should wear her emotional armor while dealing with him hurt him more than he would like to admit. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts once more. “And yet you admitted you have wanted me since then. Just as much as I have wanted you. But that’s it - I don’t know if it’s residual feelings from then, or not letting go of the possibility of that ‘what if’. But now - now it wouldn’t bring us anything other than regret, betrayal and pain.” He paused, staring at her intently, focusing on the pain that was now clearly visible in her gaze. His voice came out strained, because that pain in there was mirroring in his, and he was making sure she saw it too. “And I don’t want to be the one to make you hurt.”

She froze, until a soft, kind of hysterical laugh bubbled from her lips. Her eyes clenched shut and she shook her head, a sad smile dusting her lips. “You have been doing that since the day we met.”

A pang of guilt resonated through him, and his hands tightened its grip on hers. He hated himself for hurting her in any way, and yet he knew she was telling the truth: he had hurt her. He had brought her nothing but pain since they had crossed paths, and it was killing him. They had found themselves in such an impossible situation, he really felt like screaming at whatever deity had dealt their cards once upon a time. “That’s the last thing I ever wanted. My offer still stands. You can be a part of something, you and Henry, and you won’t have to run from anything - from me - anymore.” He seized her with a pleading and hopeful look. “Don’t you want that?”

He could tell from the hard expression on her face that she wasn’t really looking forward to his idea. She was as stony and unrelenting as she had been when she had first learned that he had found out about their son. 

“I want that for Henry. Not for me,” she said at last, and he snapped his gaze back to hers, completely taken aback. What did she want then?

“Emma...” He tried to reason with her, but he knew that she would be having none of it, stopping him before he could try to start an argument. Her words were raw and angry, full of venom, spat so vehemently he cringed as they fell from her lips.

“I already told you, Jones. I will do anything for Henry, but don’t expect me to jump into your family’s arms. I don’t want to.”

He felt himself begging once more in her presence, the plea coming out without him even thinking about it. “Why not?”

She yanked his hands from hers, stepping back and staring back at him with crazed eyes, stray curls escaping her ponytail. She choked a strangled, pained sound, like a wounded animal attempting to run before its death, the thought sending a shiver down his spine. She glared at him with such intensity he could nearly feel it scorching his skin. “You are such a bastard. I _hate_ you. I fucking hate you _so much_. Why do you make me say it aloud every time? Leave me the fuck alone,” she said, starting to leave for what he guessed would be her bedroom, but he didn’t let her, following in a couple of fast strides and pinning her against the door, her head banging against it with a loud bang. A hazy memory of her banging another wall suddenly crossed his mind, and without him even noticing, he licked his lips, clenching his eyes shut as ghost caresses and whispers of that day took over him. He focused on the broken blonde in his arms, who kept struggling, weaker and weaker as seconds ticked by, until she just pushed against his chest lamely, a quiet, pained sob breaking the quiet in the room. “Because it’s your arms I want to jump into, and I can’t,” she cried, and Killian gulped down his own tears.

Not only did she still want him. She _loved_ him. After all the pain, the loneliness, all the time lost. Ten years. Was it because he had given her Henry? Or was it just that it had been that thing between them, that connection they had had from the start?

For the first time in years, he let himself forget about responsibilities, about anything and everything that held him and rooted to his feet, anything that made him what he was right then. Because in that moment, only he and Emma existed. And if she had fallen for that guy who had been taken and had nursed a broken heart since then, as much as he had tried to forget about her - and barely managing it, if not for the fact that he had had a family of his own who showered him with love every day, bringing him the closest thing resembling to happiness he had ever had, - he sure as hell was going to show her that that guy was still there.

Even if it was just for that night.

He pressed his body against hers, pinning her against the door, and taking her hands in one of his, he leisurely brought them up to rest above her. He dipped his head until his lips were resting above her collarbone, his nose brushing the pale skin of her neck as he traced idle patterns over it. “What are you doing?” she murmured, her voice trembling slightly along with her body, overcome by shivers.

With his free hand, he started unbuttoning his shirt, and spying the widening of her eyes, he let go of her wrists, peeling it off from his chest and promptly gripping hers and taking of hers over her head in a swift movement, ignoring her quiet protests. “Giving you the _what if_. Even if it’s just for tonight. Please, Emma,” he pleaded, hands coming up to entangle with hers above her head, his lips ghosting a kiss over hers, sparks flying between their skin at the promise of making contact after such a long time.

He craved it.

Before he could take them home, though, her whisper halted him, their noses brushing the only touch between them. “Don’t. Killian, don’t, please.”

He pulled back a hair, locking his eyes with hers, enunciating each word carefully. “You have been alone since you left. I have missed you, I have _mourned_ you for ten years. Even if it’s just this once, just so you know that I crave it too,” he all but begged, anguish and the knowledge of the loss, the pain, that they would never have anything more than this, nothing like what she so desperately needed from him. He pressed his forehead against her, his ragged breaths coming in sync with hers, heartbeats hammering at once. “But I can’t. You know I can’t,” he rasped, fighting back the urge to let his pain show.

She stood carefully frozen, not daring to move. When he opened up his eyes, he observedher lip trembling, and how a tear fell down her face. Very slowly, he bent down and placed his lips against her cheek, kissing it away, and he could feel her shuddering in his arms. “This is a mistake,” she whispered brokenly, and another wave of déjà vu washed over him. He stared down at her, and he cupped her cheek in his hand, swiping his thumb over the dampness he had previously cleared with his lips.

“A perfect mistake,” he repeated the words he had once told her, back in another life, in another place and another time.

Funny thing was that the story kept repeating itself: still entangled against each other, when both of them knew there was no future for them, no happy ending to hold onto anymore. They could have had the chance, but it had slipped away from their fingers, leaving them orphans, alone and wishing upon a star that they could go back and change it all. 

 

 

(.)

 

 

Leaning against the doorframe, Killian observed with an amused expression as the two kids played and shared stories between them, a young Grace sitting beside them completely entranced as they waved their arms frantically in their enthusiasm. He shook his head, walking back into the kitchen to help his wife while she set some more treats in several bowls for their guests. “Those two are already wreaking havoc. I don’t know what I expected, really.”

Milah took a peek over her shoulder towards the door leading to the room where the children were sitting. “Well, seeing as Bae has no brothers or sisters, I can see why he enjoys being around Henry.”

Killian closed his eyes, avoiding her gaze, even though he shouldn’t have worried at all, seeing as she was busy counting and fixing canapés over a tray. If only she knew... The fact that Henry and Bae were actually brothers and they would never know still kept him awake at night, wondering if this was the best way to go about this whole thing. 

But he knew it was. There was no other possible solution at this point to try to go back now.

“Yeah. I guess he does,” he admitted. He sighed, rubbing his neck in a tired manner, in a corner of his mind dreading going back to the living room, where his friends were gathered after quite a long time since they had all been together per Milah’s request. They were all there: August, Philip and Aurora, Victor and Ruby, Jefferson - who of course had brought Grace with him, - Graham. 

And Emma.

She had been wary of coming to the get together, but after much insistence on Milah’s part who had somehow managed to get a hold of her number and Bae’s plea to get to see Henry again, she had finally caved in, to his relief and silent delight. At least, when she had found herself surrounded by old friends who had been nothing but glad to see her and welcoming of her presence, she had started to relax, and he would even dare say she was enjoying herself.

“Could you bring this to the living room, please?” Milah asked, passing a tray to him. He took it in his hands, walking out of the kitchen and carefully opening the door to the living room, where a grinning Ruby rapidly approached him, taking him by surprise. “If you even try, so God help me, I’ll kill you in your sleep,” he warned her, shooting her a glare. She pouted at him, and they both grinned at once, knowing that he would make her pay if she tried to tickle him while he was balancing something in his hands before setting it safely over a table. 

“I wasn’t going to, you loser!,” she protested, and he finally set the food in front of his friends, who were sitting and sprawled over his couches and ottomans around a low table. He came back to stand beside Ruby, who turned to him with a sudden serious expression on her face. “Thank you for inviting Emma. It’s so nice to see her out and actually having fun.”

He nodded, acknowledging her words. “I told her that, and I was not taking a no for an answer. Though I believe Henry had more to do with it than me but I’ll take what I can.” He scanned the room briefly, and upon not catching sight of blonde hair anywhere, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Where is she, anyway?”

Ruby jerked her chin to the window pane on the other side of the room. “In the balcony, talking to Graham. Maybe trying to explain to him why she didn’t ever return any of his calls. Wouldn’t want to be in her shoes right now,” she added, laughing mischievously at her friend’s predicament. Killian tried not to stiffen at her words, and bit his lip, chastising himself for acting like a jealous boyfriend. He fixed his position so he could take a glimpse of the couple talking on the balcony, and there they were. Emma was openly grinning, no discomfort or annoyance present in her features as she animatedly conversed with Graham, and his expression matched hers, eyes glinting as he stared down at her.

He could say it didn’t hurt, but it did.

He could say he hadn’t expected it, but he had.

He could say he didn’t want it to happen... and he wouldn’t know what to say. A selfish part of him of course would always hope for her to be branded, marked by him, and the idea of her being with another man would always feel like a punch to his gut. But the rational part - and somehow his heart, the part of him that would always seek what was best for Emma, what would make her happy, wanted her to find it in whatever way she could. And if it was with Graham where she would finally realize she could be ultimately happy, then so be it. And he had to admit his friend had been always lonely, never having been able to find that person who would make him feel, and spent too many times healing a broken heart after being played and used by women who just appeared to want a pretty face to play with. Looking at him now, he could see hope, real hope in his eyes, and as much as he wanted to hate him for probably being the ticket out for Emma to forget all about him, he wished what was best for him.

It was time to be selfless, for once.

He mingled around for a while with his friends, recalling past stories, old jokes and making plans for future gatherings, promises of seeing more of each other made as they all clinked glasses and laughed at their antics. At one point, though, he told Milah he was going to check on the children just in case, as they had been too quiet and that could only lead to trouble coming from those three. Walking back towards the room they had been in earlier, he opened the door quietly, and found himself completely speechless at the sight: the three of them had fallen asleep, a movie playing in the background, the light coming from the screen the only light illuminating the room. He leaned against the doorframe, drinking in the scene in front of him. 

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, until a soft voice brought him out of his reverie. “Hey.”

He turned, finding Emma standing beside him, a somewhat embarrassed smile on her face. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to take a peek behind of him. He took her by her arms, leaning her slightly so she could spy the three kids fast asleep on the couch, and she smiled tenderly. He was pretty sure her fingers were itching to go over there and drape a blanket over there or rake them through her son’s - their son’s - hair.

He knew it because he was fighting against the same urge himself.

They were parents, after all.

Letting go of him, she took a step back, and leaned against the doorframe opposite to his. He continued to watch over them, taking in their slumped forms, the peace on their young and carefree faces. “It’s just...,” he started, unable to stop himself. “He’s beautiful.”

He knew she had guessed who he was talking about. She leaned her face against her hand, staring down at Henry, who was, curiously enough, positioned much like her: his face resting over his hand. 

He could imagine them both sleeping in the same bed whenever he had been sick, or he had woken up from a nightmare asking for her company. He could see them both sharing the pillow and sleeping in the same posture, and his heart tightened at the thought, knowing that he could have been witness of such a scene, that he could have woken them up by tickling them and laughed as they squealed in delight. 

He wondered if the pain of the loss of the life that he could have had beside Emma and him would ever leave him, and he nearly scoffed at himself: of course it wouldn’t. It never would. 

At least all of these little things he missed and craved, this parallel life of his that would never be, were great material for his dreams. There, they didn’t hurt anybody but himself.

Emma still kept her gaze focused on Henry. “He is,” she agreed. He left the doorframe to stand closer to her, bumping his shoulder playfully with hers. “We made something beautiful. We make quite the team.”

He knew she was fighting the urge to roll her eyes at his bad joke, but at the same time found herself agreeing with him - they were quite the team, had been since they met. She couldn’t deny it. She finally shrugged, looking up at him. “I guess.”

There was a pause between them as he closed the door behind him so they wouldn’t bother the sleeping young trio. They stood in silence, until a question he had been dreading to ask escaped his lips. “So... friends?” he asked tentatively, looking at her from under his lashes. 

She measured him slowly, biting her lip and considering his words. After a moment of hesitation, a flash of concern passing briefly over her eyes, she nodded. “Friends it is.” She then turned to him, pointing a finger at his face trying to appear menacing. “But, as friends: no flirting.”

He lifted his hands in front of him, shaking his head in mock surrender. “Not sure I won’t drop something here or there. It’s how I work with any female, really.”

He laughed at her groan. She composed herself quite fast, though, and her tone became serious then, and he was more than surprised to find her eyes full of doubt and uncertainty. “And you don’t have any say in what I do... with other friends.”

As she finished, her gaze flitted fleetingly in Graham’s direction, and he made a point of stare him down as he sat along with the rest of their friends, oblivious to their conversation.He returned his stare back at her, and cocked his head to the side, silently wondering what in hell had she thought he’d do about it if she started dating anyone. Of course he’d be okay with it. He would hurt, of course, but hadn’t she hurt already on her own for too long? It was only fair. 

She, more than anyone, deserved to be happy.

Fixing her with an intense look, he gave her his blessing - even though she didn’t need it, not at all. “Friends only want other friends to be happy. Even if it kills them to see you with other men, they’ll look out for your happiness.”

She let out a breath, and her shoulder slumped. He wondered how his seemingly accepting reaction to her request had appeared to have such an effect over her, but it felt right to see her at least in some kind of peace about it. Her eyes flitted to his, a sad smile curling her lips. “Not the happiness she’d really want, though.”

He offered her his arm, and before he knew it, she had curled herself against him, her head propped against his shoulder and her hair tickling his neck. “That’s what dreams are for, princess,” he whispered against her locks, her scent washing over him and bringing back memories of young, tragic and impossible love, “There, we have our happy ending.” 

 


End file.
